Chapter 6 - The Broken Contract
The sound of the gunshot vibrated through the floorboards beneath my feet.
Sofia screamed, burying her face into my hip. Every instinct told me to panic, to run toward the back servants' stairs and escape into the woods behind the estate. But looking down at the terrified child clinging to my legs, a fierce, protective heat ignited in my chest.
“Inside, Sofia! Move!”
I shoved her into the second-floor library, slamming the heavy mahogany door shut. I turned the brass deadbolt until it clicked, then dragged a heavy oak armchair across the floor, wedging it firmly beneath the handle.
“Under the desk,” I ordered, keeping my voice low and firm. “Crawling under, right now. Don't make a sound, no matter what you hear. Do you hear me?”
Sofia nodded frantically, tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching her stuffed rabbit as she scrambled beneath the massive executive desk in the corner.
I turned back toward the door, my heart pounding in my throat like a trapped bird. My bandaged wrist throbbed violently from dragging the chair, but I barely felt it. I scanned the room for a weapon. On the mantle sat a heavy brass letter opener with an ornate handle. I grabbed it with my left hand, gripping the cold metal tight.
Downstairs, heavy boots pounded against hardwood. Shouted orders in harsh, barking voices echoed up the spiral staircase.
*Luca.*
Was he dead? Was he lying on the shattered glass of the solarium while Vincent’s men took the house? The thought sent a sickening chill through my gut. If Luca was gone, Sofia and I had zero chance of surviving the morning.
Suddenly, footsteps approached the library door. Fast. Heavy.
Someone tested the brass handle. It rattled violently against the locked latch.
“Open the door,” a gruff voice demanded from the hallway. It wasn't Luca. It was one of Vincent’s bodyguards. “Open the damn door, girl! The boss wants the kid!”
“Go away!” I screamed, raising the brass blade, my back pressed against the desk to shield Sofia. “Security is already on their way!”
“Security is dead at the front gate,” the man spat back.
A heavy shoulder slammed into the wood. The oak frame groaned. The chair holding the handle slid back two inches across the polished floor.
*Bang!*
Another violent slam. The wood around the brass lock began to splinter.
I raised the brass letter opener, my arms shaking, positioning myself directly in front of the door. I knew I couldn't beat a grown, armed hitman. I was twenty-two years old, slightly built, and nursing a damaged wrist. But if he wanted Sofia, he was going to have to cut through me first.
The door bowed inward on the third strike. The latch gave way with a sickening crack.
The door flew open, knocking the heavy armchair aside.
A massive man in a grey trench coat stepped into the room, a heavy black pistol in his right hand. He had a bloody scratch across his cheek and a sneer on his face.
“Found you,” he growled, raising the weapon.
Before he could take another step, a hand reached from the shadowy corridor behind him, wrapping around his throat like an iron vise.
The man choked, his eyes bulging as he was violently yanked backward out of the doorway. A sickening thud echoed against the hallway wall, followed by the sound of bone snapping. The pistol clattered onto the hardwood, sliding across the threshold and stopping right at my feet.
A figure stepped through the ruined doorway.
Luca.
His charcoal suit jacket was gone. His white dress shirt was torn at the shoulder, stained with dark smears of soot and fresh crimson blood. His knuckles were raw, split open and bleeding, and his dark eyes burned with an animalistic fury that made him look like a demon rising from the underworld.
In his hand, he held a sleek, smoking Beretta.
I gasped, dropping the brass letter opener. It hit the floor with a loud clang.
Luca paused in the doorway, his chest heaving with heavy, ragged breaths. He looked at the weapon on the floor, then at me standing defensively in front of the desk, and finally at the open gap beneath the desk where Sofia was hiding.
The terrifying rage in his face fractured, softening instantly.
“Emma,” he breathed, lowering the gun.
“Mr. Moretti,” my voice cracked, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. “Are you—are you hurt?”
“None of this blood is mine,” he said, stepping into the room. He holstered his weapon, wiped his bloody hands on a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and dropped to his knees beside the desk.
“Sofia,” he called out, his voice miraculously calm, steady, and rich with warmth. “It’s over, princess. Daddy’s here.”
Sofia scrambled out from beneath the dark mahogany desk, throwing her arms around his neck with a desperate, wailing sob. Luca pulled her tight against his chest, burying his face in her dark curls. His eyes closed, his broad shoulders trembling just slightly as he held his daughter.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
After a long minute, Luca looked up at me. I was leaning against the bookshelf, my knees threatening to buckle under the sheer weight of adrenaline leaving my system.
“Vincent?” I whispered.
“Alive,” Luca replied coldly. “For now. He’s tied to a chair in the cellar with the rest of his men. The police commissioner is a personal friend of mine; he’s already sending two unmarked vans to collect the trash.”
“And Isabella?”
Luca stood up, still holding Sofia close. His jaw was set like carved granite.
“She was waiting in a car at the bottom of the driveway with the gate codes,” he said, disgust dripping from every syllable. “She gave her father the security bypass to our private wing. She wanted you dead, Emma. And she was willing to let her father kidnap Sofia to force my signature on the shipping merger.”
The sheer depravity of it made my stomach churn. A woman who would sell out a six-year-old child just to maintain her social status and wealth.
“What happens now?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Luca walked over to me. He raised his uninjured hand, gently cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. His touch was warm, surprisingly tender for a man who had just taken down armed killers with his bare hands.
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“Now,” Luca said, his eyes burning into mine with an undeniable, intoxicating certainty, “the engagement is over. The Valentis are finished in this city. And no one will ever threaten you or my daughter again.”
***
