Chapter 4 - The Line of Fire
"Down!" Luca roared.
In a fraction of a second, before my brain could even register the threat, his hands shot out, grabbing the push-rims of my wheelchair and spinning me violently backward behind the heavy, iron-reinforced mahogany desk just as a second round punched through the wall with a deafening crack of splintering wood.
"Stay down, Elena!" he commanded, his voice stripped of all warmth, replaced entirely by the cold, tactical precision of a man operating in a war zone.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The quiet, predictable world of paint thinners, canvas textures, and solitary apartment evenings had vanished, replaced by the violent, terrifying reality of Luca De Santis's true life.
"Who is that?" I gasped, ducking my head as another round impacted the outer brickwork outside the window.
"Ghosts from the past," Luca muttered, his eyes darting toward a concealed panel in the wainscoting behind the desk. He pressed a hidden latch, and the wood slid open to reveal a heavy steel wall safe. He spun the dial with practiced speed, the heavy metal door swinging open to reveal a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol and a spare magazine.
He checked the chamber with a swift, mechanical snap that made my stomach twist.
"They tracked you here?" I asked, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
"They didn't track me. They tracked you," Luca corrected sharply, sliding the pistol into a concealed shoulder holster beneath his vest. He knelt beside my chair, his hand briefly touching my shoulder—a grounding, solid pressure amidst the chaos. "The moment my security detail flagged your chair's serial number yesterday afternoon during our date, it triggered an internal alert on a secure encrypted server. Someone in my grandfather's old network is still alive, and they've been waiting two decades to finish what started in that fire."
"I didn't ask for this!" I hissed, tears of frustration stinging the corners of my eyes. "I just wanted to restore my paintings! I didn't ask to be a De Santis!"
"None of us get to choose the blood we inherit, Elena," Luca said, his voice softening just a fraction before his eyes hardened again as he listened to the faint sound of heavy boots hitting the gravel outside the loading bay. "Right now, you are the only leverage I have left. And I am the only person standing between you and whatever fate those bastards have planned for Matteo's daughter."
He reached out, unlocking the manual brake release on my wheelchair wheels.
"There's a freight elevator behind the storage room leading down to the private slips on the river," Luca instructed, his tone absolute. "Take the speedboat tied to Slip Four. The keys are in the ignition. Head north toward Baton Rouge and don't stop for anyone."
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"And you?" I demanded, staring at him in horror. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to stay right here," Luca said, a dangerous, razor-thin smile touching the corner of his lips as he checked the slide of his weapon. "And introduce our guests to the rest of the family."
