Chapter 7 - FireThe heat reached me before I reached the warehouse.
Not metaphorically.
Maps covered the table.
Federal photographs.
Phone records.
Building schematics.
Agent Ramirez arrived before sunrise with two analysts and enough coffee to sustain a military campaign.
I sat at the head of the table wearing sweatpants and one of Mara’s oversized sweaters.
Nobody asked me to leave.
That mattered.
“We cannot trade the drive,” Ramirez said.
“They’ll kill Tyler,” I replied.
“They may kill him regardless.”
“That doesn’t mean we do nothing.”
Adrian stood near the window.
He had barely spoken since the video arrived.
Ramirez looked at him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That Rourke wants more than the drive.”
“Such as?”
“Me.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“Because if he only wanted the data, he would have demanded digital transfer.”
Ramirez nodded.
“He wants an in-person exchange.”
“Yes.”
“That gives us an opportunity.”
“No.”
The word came from me.
Everyone looked at me.
Ramirez leaned back.
“What are you objecting to?”
“Using Adrian as bait.”
Adrian’s eyebrows lifted.
“You have opinions now?”
“I’ve always had opinions.”
“You’ve known me three days.”
“And in those three days, people have tried to kidnap me, kill my sister and blow up an airport. I have earned opinions.”
One analyst coughed to hide a laugh.
Ramirez almost smiled.
“We wouldn’t send him alone.”
“Still no.”
Adrian finally looked amused.
“You understand I am not actually your husband in the traditional sense.”
“Legally you are.”
“So now you’re protective?”
“I’m practical.”
“Interesting distinction.”
“Stop enjoying this.”
His smile disappeared, but his eyes didn’t.
Ramirez interrupted.
“Children, focus.”
I stared at her.
“Did you just call a mafia boss a child?”
“I have federal health insurance.”
Adrian muttered something in Italian.
The plan developed anyway.
Rourke had selected an abandoned distribution facility outside Denver.
Midnight.
Adrian would bring the drive.
Federal tactical units would surround the location.
Simple.
Which meant it would probably go terribly wrong.
I insisted on participating only from the command vehicle.
Adrian refused.
We argued for twenty minutes.
“You’re not going.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You’re a civilian.”
“So is Tyler.”
“That is irrelevant.”
“It is completely relevant.”
“You being there adds risk.”
“You kidnapped me from economy and proposed marriage six hours later. You no longer get to lecture me about risk management.”
Ramirez covered her mouth.
Adrian stared at me.
Then he did something remarkable.
He stopped arguing.
Not because I won.
Because he listened.
“If Ramirez says yes,” he said finally.
She sighed.
“I hate both of you.”
But she said yes.
That afternoon, I found Adrian in the training room.
Apparently, the mountain house had one.
Of course it did.
He was wrapping his hands.
A punching bag hung from the ceiling.
“Planning to beat Rourke personally?”
“No.”
“You look like you want to.”
“I do.”
He hit the bag once.
Hard enough to make the chain jump.
I flinched.
Adrian saw it.
Immediately, he stepped backward.
He removed the wraps.
“I’m sorry.”
“For hitting a bag?”
“You reacted.”
I looked down.
Tyler had punched walls.
Doors.
Cabinets.
Never me, he would say afterward.
As though violence became harmless if it landed six inches from my face.
Adrian waited.
“I’m okay.”
He didn’t say you’re safe.
He didn’t tell me what I felt.
He simply nodded.
“I should go.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Something shifted between us.
Small.
Dangerous.
I sat on a bench.
“Why did Rourke mention your sister?”
Adrian looked away.
There it was again.
The locked door.
“You said she paid the price for your mistake.”
He remained silent.
“Adrian.”
“My sister’s name is Elena.”
I waited.
“She was twenty-two when Rourke began working with us.”
He sat opposite me.
“She was studying architecture in Florence. She came home for the summer.”
“What happened?”
“Rourke wanted me to transport something through one of our ports.”
“What?”
“Women.”
My stomach turned.
“I refused.”
Adrian stared at the floor.
“I thought refusing was enough.”
“It wasn’t.”
“He took Elena.”
My hand went to my mouth.
“How long?”
“Four days.”
I stopped breathing.
“She survived?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Adrian’s voice became almost emotionless.
“She hasn’t spoken to me in nine years.”
I understood.
Not because she blamed him necessarily.
Because trauma rearranges relationships.
Sometimes even the people who love you become attached to the worst moment of your life.
“Where is she?”
“Switzerland.”
“Safe?”
“Yes.”
“Does Rourke know?”
“No.”
“Do you know where?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“She sends Mara a message once a year.”
“You don’t track her?”
“I could.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
I looked at him.
This man with investigators, armored cars, criminal connections and the ability to find almost anyone.
He had let his sister disappear because she asked.
Something inside me softened.
“Did she blame you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You refused Rourke.”
“I gave him access to our world in the first place.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Not permission.”
Adrian looked at me.
I realized the words were for both of us.
Mistake is not permission.
Trust is not permission.
Love is not permission.
Marriage is not permission.
At 9:40 p.m., we left for the exchange.
I rode in the command vehicle with Ramirez.
Adrian traveled separately.
Before he got into his car, he came to my window.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“If anything goes wrong, you leave.”
“I know.”
“Immediately.”
“I know.”
“You don’t wait for me.”
I looked at him.
“I’m not promising that.”
His jaw tightened.
“I need you to.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“You keep telling me I have choices.”
“Yes.”
“This is mine.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he nodded once.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He walked away.
Ramirez watched through the windshield.
“You two are exhausting.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The warehouse stood alone beneath industrial lights.
At 11:58, Adrian entered.
We listened through his microphone.
Every sound came through the speakers.
Footsteps.
Metal doors.
Wind.
Then Rourke’s voice.
“You came.”
Adrian answered.
“You expected me.”
“Where’s the drive?”
“Where’s Bennett?”
A pause.
Then Tyler screamed.
My entire body tightened.
A camera feed activated from a drone.
Inside the building, Tyler knelt beside a chair.
Rourke stood near him.
Three armed men surrounded them.
Adrian stood alone.
“Show me the drive,” Rourke said.
Adrian held it up.
Rourke smiled.
“Your wife made you sentimental.”
“No.”
“She will.”
Adrian’s face remained unreadable.
Rourke walked closer.
“Do you remember Elena?”
Something changed in Adrian’s posture.
Ramirez leaned toward the screen.
Rourke continued.
“She had your eyes.”
Adrian’s hand closed slowly.
“Careful,” Ramirez whispered, though Adrian couldn’t hear her.
Rourke smiled.
“You always believed I took her to punish you.”
“You did.”
“No.”
My skin turned cold.
“I took her because your father asked me to.”
Adrian froze.
Even Ramirez looked stunned.
Rourke laughed softly.
“You never knew.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Your father thought Elena was weakening you. He wanted her frightened enough to leave the family business forever.”
Adrian’s face changed.
Not anger.
Devastation.
Rourke stepped closer.
“He didn’t expect my men to enjoy themselves.”
My stomach turned.
Adrian moved.
Too fast.
Agents shouted over communications.
Gunfire erupted.
The screen shook.
“Move!” Ramirez yelled.
Tactical teams flooded the building.
I saw Adrian hit one man.
Another gun fired.
Tyler fell sideways.
Rourke ran.
Then our communications went dead.
“Adrian?”
Nothing.
Ramirez shouted orders.
The command vehicle doors opened.
Agents ran.
I stayed.
For exactly twelve seconds.
Then a second explosion shook the warehouse.
Fire rose along the roof.
May you like
And I broke my promise to myself.
I ran toward the building.
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