Chapter 8 - The Price of Choosing Her
Malcolm and Roman vanished for nine days.
Nine days sounds short unless you are twenty-three weeks pregnant and know two men have discussed killing your child.
Then nine days becomes a lifetime.
Declan doubled security.
I made him reduce it.
He argued.
We compromised.
Again.
That had become our strange new language.
Not obedience.
Not control.
Negotiation.
He still hated it.
Which made me enjoy it slightly more.
Savannah visited daily.
Patrick Calloway moved into a hotel under FBI protection after his attorneys began negotiating cooperation.
That development shocked everyone.
Patrick Calloway had spent forty years avoiding law enforcement.
His son had apparently inspired personal growth.
Or revenge.
Possibly both.
Federal prosecutors became involved after Declan’s attorneys delivered selected evidence.
Declan gave statements through counsel.
Gavin did too.
Sean entered protective custody.
The city newspapers began publishing stories about Voss Holdings restructuring.
Financial analysts praised it as modernization.
Nobody mentioned the bodies beneath the balance sheets.
Then Roman contacted me.
Not Declan.
Me.
The message appeared on a prepaid phone I had purchased months earlier.
Impossible.
Nobody had the number except June.
And one prenatal clinic in North Carolina.
My blood went cold.
Hello, Amelia.
I showed Declan immediately.
That mattered.
Months earlier, I would have hidden it because I did not trust what he might do.
Now I handed him the phone.
His jaw tightened.
Another message appeared.
You want the war to end?
Then come home.
A photograph followed.
My restoration studio.
Chicago.
The room where Declan and I had met.
I stared.
“Why there?”
Declan’s face changed.
“Malcolm.”
“What?”
“He owns the building.”
“I thought Voss Holdings—”
“Through him.”
Another photograph arrived.
My old workbench.
On it sat the original portrait I had restored.
The painting that brought Declan into my life.
Below it:
Your story began here. It can end here.
June read the message.
“Dramatic little bastard.”
Declan almost smiled.
Then another photo appeared.
A woman tied to a chair.
My breath stopped.
My former assistant.
Nora.
“No.”
Declan grabbed the phone.
Roman wrote:
Midnight.
No police.
No security.
Bring Declan.
I looked at him.
He already knew.
“We’re going.”
“No.”
“Declan.”
“No.”
“This is Nora.”
“I know.”
“She has nothing to do with this.”
“I know.”
“Then we go.”
“You are pregnant.”
“And she’s tied to a chair because of me.”
“That is not your responsibility.”
“Neither was June’s shop.”
He flinched.
I continued.
“I spent months believing running could keep the war away from everyone around me. It didn’t.”
“So you want to walk into Malcolm’s trap?”
“I want a plan.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What kind?”
“The kind where you don’t decide I stay home automatically.”
He stared.
Then exhaled.
“All right.”
We built one.
The studio building had six entrances.
A freight elevator.
Old service tunnels connecting to the neighboring hotel.
I knew the interior better than Malcolm expected.
There was an attic ventilation passage above the restoration room.
I had used it during humidity repairs.
Gavin loved that.
Declan hated everything.
“Too dangerous.”
“You promised.”
“I promised inclusion, not insanity.”
Savannah leaned over the floor plan.
“She can remain in the command vehicle.”
I glared.
Savannah shrugged.
“I’m pregnant-neutral, not stupid.”
Eventually, we agreed.
I would enter the building only after Gavin confirmed Nora’s location and the exit routes were secured.
Declan wore a microphone.
Federal agents remained several blocks away because Declan still feared someone inside law enforcement worked for Malcolm.
At 11:48 p.m., Declan entered my old studio.
Roman waited beside the painting.
Malcolm stood near the windows.
Nora sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
Declan stopped.
Roman smiled.
“Romantic.”
“What do you want?”
“Control.”
Declan laughed.
“You sound twelve.”
Roman’s smile vanished.
Malcolm interrupted.
“The trust.”
“It’s being dissolved.”
“It can be restored.”
“No.”
“Your daughter changes everything.”
Declan’s expression became lethal.
“You will never mention her again.”
Malcolm smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The weakness.”
Declan shook his head.
“You still don’t understand.”
He stepped closer.
“She isn’t my weakness.”
Malcolm raised a gun.
“She made you dismantle your empire.”
“No.”
Declan smiled.
“She made me realize I never wanted it.”
That line would later appear in my memory a thousand times.
Not because it was romantic.
Because it was true.
Roman moved behind Nora.
Gun against her head.
“Where is Amelia?”
Declan’s body went still.
“Safe.”
“Liar.”
Roman smiled.
“She came.”
My blood froze inside the command van.
Declan looked toward the hidden camera.
Roman continued.
“She always comes when someone else might get hurt.”
How did he know?
Then June shouted behind me.
I turned.
The driver of the command van raised a weapon.
Everything happened instantly.
Savannah struck his arm.
The gun fired through the roof.
June hit him with the butt of her shotgun.
I opened the side door.
Gavin’s voice exploded through my earpiece.
“Amelia, move!”
The compromised driver grabbed my coat.
I kicked him.
Savannah tackled him.
I jumped from the vehicle.
Gunfire erupted inside the building.
Roman had known our plan.
Someone had leaked it.
I ran toward the alley.
Bad decision.
Terrible.
But two armed men appeared behind the van.
I had no choice.
The service door stood ahead.
I entered.
My old studio smelled exactly the same.
Varnish.
Dust.
Linseed oil.
Memory.
I climbed the rear stairs.
Above me, shots echoed.
“Nora!” I shouted.
Declan’s voice responded from the main room.
“Amelia?”
Anger.
Fear.
Disbelief.
I reached the doorway.
Roman had Declan at gunpoint.
Malcolm stood behind him.
Nora was crawling toward the wall.
Declan saw my stomach.
Then my face.
“What are you doing?”
“Long story.”
Roman laughed.
“Family reunion.”
Malcolm turned the gun toward me.
Declan moved.
Roman fired.
The bullet struck Declan in the shoulder.
I screamed.
He fell.
Everything stopped.
Malcolm aimed at my stomach.
Then another gun fired.
Malcolm jerked backward.
Savannah stood in the doorway.
Weapon in both hands.
Her face white.
“My family has done enough.”
Roman turned toward his sister.
Gavin entered from the opposite hall.
“Drop it!”
Roman grabbed me.
His arm locked across my throat.
Gun against my side.
Declan struggled upright.
Blood soaked his shirt.
“Roman.”
Roman dragged me backward.
“Stay down.”
Declan ignored him.
“I said stay down!”
“Take me.”
Roman laughed.
“I already have what matters.”
Declan’s face became terrifyingly calm.
“No.”
His eyes found mine.
“You have someone who will fight you.”
I drove my heel down on Roman’s foot.
Elbow backward.
Twisted.
Exactly as Gavin had taught me two days earlier after I insisted.
Roman lost his grip.
Declan lunged.
Gavin fired.
Roman dropped.
Silence.
My ears rang.
I looked at Declan.
He looked at me.
Then at my stomach.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He collapsed.
I ran to him.
For the first time since I had met Declan Voss, I held him while his blood covered my hands.
“Stay with me.”
His eyes opened.
“Baby?”
“She’s fine.”
“You?”
“Fine.”
He smiled weakly.
“Good.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Not planning to.”
Malcolm lay wounded but alive.
Roman survived too.
Federal agents arrived eight minutes later.
Nora was rescued.
Savannah sat on the floor shaking.
June walked in and looked around at the shattered studio.
“Well.”
Nobody answered.
May you like
She sighed.
“I assume this means we’re not getting our security deposit back.”
