Chapter 4 - The Steel Garden
The basement firing range beneath the east wing of the Vasari estate didn't smell of old dust or aged mahogany like the floors above. It smelled of ozone, gun oil, and cold concrete.
Adeline sat in her high-tech chair at the firing line, wearing noise-canceling earmuffs and dark safety glasses. Beside her stood Marcus, a scarred former Marine who served as Emmett’s head of personal security. Across from her, resting on a green felt pad, lay the custom matte-black 9mm Emmett had given her two days ago.
"The trick with a wheelchair, Miss Vance, isn't about standing your ground," Marcus explained in a calm, gravelly voice. "It's about leverage. Your chair is your anchor. You lock the electric brakes, lower your center of gravity, and use both hands to absorb the recoil."
Adeline locked the chair's electronic brakes with a flick of her right thumb. Her hands, pale and thin, picked up the pistol. It felt surprisingly heavy, the cold steel biting into her palm.
"Align the sights," Marcus instructed gently. "Breathe out. Squeeze smoothly."
BANG.
The recoil slammed through her wrists, sending a sharp jolt up her forearms. The paper target fifteen yards down the subterranean lane fluttered. A bullet hole appeared—not in the bullseye, but cleanly in the lower torso of the human silhouette.
"Not bad for a beginner," a deep voice boomed behind them.
Adeline turned off her ear protection and rotated her chair. Emmett stood near the tactical monitoring console, wearing his signature black shirt, his hands resting in his pockets. He had been standing there in the shadows for twenty minutes, watching her silently.
"Lower torso," Adeline said, shaking out her sore wrist. "If that were an intruder, he'd still be coming."
"If that were an intruder," Emmett replied, walking down the concrete lane until he stood right beside her, "he would already be bleeding out while Marcus’s team breached the room. You don't need to be an Olympic marksman, Adeline. You just need to create enough hesitation for my men to kill him."
He reached down, taking the pistol from her hands with practiced ease. He checked the chamber, cleared it, and laid it back on the felt pad.
"Come with me," he said softly. "There's something I want to show you."
He led her up the private hydraulic lift—the one installed just twenty-four hours prior—to the ground floor, leading out toward the rear glass doors that opened to the estate's private courtyard.
When the heavy doors slid open, Adeline gasped softly.
The old, cracked stone patio that had sat neglected for decades had been completely transformed. Smooth, light-gray teak rampways wound through a magnificent, newly planted botanical garden. Raised stone flower beds filled with white roses, lavender, and Japanese maples were constructed at precise heights—perfect for someone sitting in a chair to reach out and touch the leaves.
"You... you built this?" Adeline asked, her voice caught in her throat as she navigated the chair smoothly over the seamless wood decking.
"My mother loved white roses," Emmett said, walking beside her as the cool autumn breeze stirred the autumn leaves. "After she died, my father paved over the garden to make room for armored vehicles and guard posts. I thought... it was time to put something living back into the stone."
Adeline stopped her chair beneath the shade of a vibrant red maple tree. She looked up at him—at the harsh line of his jaw, the dark eyes that held a decade of unspoken blood and loss.
"Your mother," Adeline whispered. "How did she pass?"
Emmett turned his gaze toward the high iron perimeter walls surrounding the estate.
"Vito Moretti’s father," Emmett said coldly. "Thirty years ago. A car bomb meant for my father. I was seven years old, standing on the front steps right there when the vehicle exploded in the driveway."
Adeline felt a sudden, sharp ache in her chest. She reached out, placing her hand over his calloused fingers resting on the teak handrail beside her chair. He didn't pull away.
"That's why you became the cold one," she said softly. "You built a wall so tall that no one could ever throw fire over it again."
"I built a wall so I wouldn't have to watch anyone else bleed," Emmett corrected, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of her hand. "Until a rusted SUV pulled into my driveway in the rain, carrying a woman who looked at me like I was just another fence she had to climb over."
Adeline looked into his eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs with a sudden, dizzying force that had nothing to do with fear.
"I didn't think you were a fence, Emmett," she confessed quietly. "I thought you were a man who was just as lonely as I was."
Before Emmett could answer, his encrypted phone vibrated violently against his hip.
The moment was instantly shattered. The soft warmth in Emmett's eyes vanished, replaced instantly by the lethal, calculating glint of the Vasari syndicate leader.
May you like
He answered, clicking the speaker. "Speak."
Marcus’s urgent voice came through the speaker. "Boss, we have a major breach at the north rail yard. Julian’s convoy was ambushed by Moretti’s men. Julian’s hit in the shoulder—he’s pinned inside the warehouse!"
