Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm in Astoria
Two days after the incident in the kitchen, Emma insisted on visiting her old craft shop in Astoria, Graceful Things. She hadn't seen the small storefront since the day she went into labor, and she needed a few of her personal carving tools and baby books left behind in her apartment above the shop.
Gabriel initially refused, citing security risks, but relented when Emma pointed out that she couldn't live in the fortified estate forever like a prisoner. He sent a heavily armored convoy of three black SUVs, led by his most trusted enforcer, Viktor Vance, and a detail of six armed guards.
When the convoy pulled up to the snowy curb on Ditmars Boulevard, Astoria looked peaceful, untouched by the brutal shadow of the Moretti syndicate. Snow frosted the awning of Graceful Things, and the little wooden bell above the door chimed softly as Viktor unlocked it and swept the interior with a flashlight before letting Emma step inside.
“All clear, Mrs. Brooks,” Viktor said gruffly, though his hand remained close to his holster.
“Thank you, Viktor,” Emma said, walking through the dusty, familiar aisles. The smell of cedarwood, dried lavender, and acrylic paint rushed over her, bringing a sudden wave of bittersweet memories. She walked up the narrow wooden stairs to her apartment, where her sister, Clare, was waiting for her.
Clare rushed forward, throwing her arms around Emma’s neck.
“Emma! Oh, thank God. I was so worried about you when I heard you were living at the Moretti estate. People say Gabriel Moretti is a monster!” Clare whispered frantically, pulling her back into the living room.
“He isn't a monster to his children, Clare,” Emma defended quietly, sitting down at her old oak kitchen table. “He's grieving. Just like I am.”
“Emma, listen to me,” Clare said, grabbing her hands. “While you've been locked away in that fortress, things have been happening here in Astoria. Two men in expensive suits came by the shop yesterday asking questions about you. They asked if you had noticed anything unusual in the hospital, or if anyone had talked to you about Isabella Moretti’s medical file.”
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Julian. He knew she had been standing outside the study. He suspected she heard more than she let on.
“Clare, did they hurt you?” Emma asked, panic flaring in her chest.
“No, I hid in the back storage room until they left,” Clare said, her eyes wide with fear. “But Emma, these aren't ordinary neighborhood thugs. They moved like soldiers. You need to get away from Gabriel Moretti. If his family is fighting a civil war, you're standing right in the crossfire.”
Before Emma could answer, a heavy thud echoed from the ground floor of the shop below.
Viktor Vance’s voice crackled instantly over the secure radio clipped to Emma’s coat pocket.
“Mrs. Brooks, get down! We have multiple uninvited guests entering the perimeter. Perimeter compromised—”
A burst of automatic gunfire shattered the front windows of the craft shop downstairs. Glass rained down, followed by shouting, heavy boots on the stairs, and the unmistakable sound of silenced pistol shots.
“Clare, get in the bathroom closet and lock the door!” Emma commanded, pushing her sister toward the hallway.
“Emma, what about you?” Clare cried.
May you like
“Go!”
Emma grabbed her heavy coat, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The front door of the apartment blew open with a violent kick. A masked man stepped through the frame, raising a silenced pistol directly toward her chest.
