Chapter 4 - The Golden Cage
By six o'clock that evening, Emma sat beside her mother’s bed at the Green Pastor Care Home.
Margaret Brooks sat in a plush armchair, her grey hair neatly styled, clutching a warm cup of tea. Though her eyes were clouded by the haze of her illness, she smiled warmly at her daughter, reaching out to touch Emma’s hand.
“You smell like fresh yeast, sweetie,” Margaret murmured softly, her memory drifting back to the old days at Morning Grace Bakery. “Did you bring the cinnamon rolls?”
Emma smiled through her tears, pressing her mother’s frail hand against her cheek. “Not today, Mom. But soon. I think... I think we might have a new kitchen soon.”
Suddenly, the quiet atmosphere of the private room was shattered.
The heavy wooden door flew open with a violent crash. Three men dressed in dark leather jackets, their faces covered with balaclavas, burst into the room. One of them held a suppressed firearm, pointing it straight at Emma.
“Don't scream, big girl,” the lead assassin snarled, grabbing Emma by her collar and dragging her away from her mother’s chair. “You’re coming with us.”
Margaret shrieked in terror, dropping her teacup, which shattered on the floor. “Emma! Emma!”
“Mom! Stay back!” Emma screamed, struggling against the man’s grip, using her size and muscle developed from years of hauling flour sacks to slam her elbow backward into his ribs.
The man grunted in pain, stumbling back, but the second assassin raised the butt of his pistol to strike Emma across the temple.
Before the weapon could make contact, a deafening shot echoed through the hallway outside.
The second assassin collapsed to the floor as the wall behind him was painted red.
Julian stepped through the doorway, a heavy silver pistol in his gloved hand, followed by four Moretti soldiers clad in tactical gear. Within three seconds, the remaining two attackers were tackled to the floor and disarmed with brutal, terrifying precision.
Emma collapsed onto her knees, gasping for air, her heart pounding violently against her ribs as she scrambled over to shield her weeping mother.
Gabriel Moretti stepped into the room.
He did not look at the bleeding men on the floor. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on Emma. In three swift strides, he was on his knees beside her, his large hands cupping her shoulders, examining her face for any sign of injury.
“Are you hurt?” Gabriel demanded, his voice thick with a raw, dangerous fury that made the air in the room freeze. “Emma, look at me. Are you hurt?”
“I... I’m okay,” Emma stammered, shaking violently. “My mom... they scared my mom—”
Gabriel turned his head toward Julian. “Take the bodies out. Clean this room. Move Mrs. Brooks to my private estate in Long Island immediately. Full medical staff, round-the-clock guards.”
He then turned back to Emma, reaching down to slide one broad arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.
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“What are you doing?!” Emma gasped, her hands instinctively grabbing his dark cashmere lapels to steady herself.
“I told you, Emma,” Gabriel whispered, his eyes burning with an intense, possessive light as he carried her down the hallway past his armed guards. “You belong to my world now. And until Dominic Vance is dead, you are not leaving my side.”
