Chapter 4 - THE SHELTER OF SHADOWS
The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the small apartment.
I pressed Emily down,
my body acting as a human shield against the cold metal death flying through the air.
"Stay down,"
I hissed,
my mouth close to her ear.
She was shaking,
her hands clutching my coat,
but she didn't scream.
Even now,
under fire,
she was remarkably composed.
Another bullet tore through the sofa,
feathers exploding into the air like snow.
"Victor!"
I yelled.
From the hallway,
I heard the return fire.
The rhythmic boom-boom-boom of Victor’s suppressed handgun.
I reached into my waistband and pulled out my own weapon,
the familiar weight of the Glock giving me a sense of grim satisfaction.
"We have to move,"
I told her.
"When I say go,
we crawl toward the hallway.
Do you understand?"
She nodded,
her eyes wide and dark.
"Go!"
We moved fast,
staying low as more glass shattered behind us.
We reached the hallway just as Victor appeared,
his face grim.
"Two shooters on the roof across the street,"
he reported.
"Marcus is flanking them.
We need to get her out of here."
"We're going to my estate,"
I said.
"No,"
Emily whispered.
"I’m not going to your fortress.
I have a shift in the morning."
I looked at her,
utterly incredulous.
"Emily,
someone just tried to put a bullet in your brain.
The hospital is the first place they'll look."
"I have patients,"
she insisted,
though her voice was trembling.
"I have people who depend on me."
"And you'll be no use to them if you're dead,"
I snapped.
I grabbed her hand,
pulling her toward the back exit of the building.
She resisted for a moment,
then realized the futility of it.
We made it to the car,
the tires screeching as we sped away from the apartment.
Emily sat in the back seat,
staring out the window at the life she was leaving behind.
"My cat,"
she said suddenly.
"Stitch.
He’s still in there."
"I'll have my men retrieve him,"
I promised.
"I'll make sure he’s safe."
She turned to look at me,
her expression a mix of resentment and exhaustion.
"Why are you doing this?
Is this some kind of game to you?
The big bad mafia boss saves the damsel?"
"This isn't a game,
Emily.
If it were,
I'd be winning.
Right now,
I'm just trying to keep you breathing."
"And whose fault is it that I'm in danger?"
she challenged.
"Yours.
You brought your blood and your violence into my ER,
and then you brought it to my front door."
She was right.
Every word was a jagged stone thrown at the glass house of my ego.
"I know,"
I said,
the words feeling foreign in my mouth.
"And I will fix it."
"You can't fix a broken life,
Richard.
You of all people should know that."
She turned away again,
closing her eyes against the city lights.
We arrived at the estate—a massive stone manor hidden behind iron gates and high walls.
It was a prison for some,
a sanctuary for others.
I led her inside,
through the marble halls and past the armed guards who stood like statues.
She looked around with a weary disdain.
"It’s cold,"
she remarked.
"It’s safe,"
I countered.
I took her to one of the guest suites,
a room filled with silk and velvet that felt entirely too fancy for a woman who wore cheap watches and navy scrubs.
"Rest,"
I said.
"There’s a lock on the door.
Only I have the key."
She looked at the bed,
then at me.
"You think walls can keep the world out,
Richard.
But the world is already inside you.
And it’s rotting."
She shut the door before I could respond.
I stood in the hallway for a long time,
staring at the wood,
feeling the weight of her words.
May you like
She didn't just see my scars.
She saw the man I was trying so hard to hide.
