Chapter 48 Another Enemy
EMILY
Silas’s muffled screams vibrate through the thick layers of silver duct tape covering his mouth. The sudden realization hits his eyes like I physically struck him.
The heavy black pistol I shoved aggressively between his legs was completely empty the entire time. His dark, greasy hair sticks to his forehead in messy clumps as he thrashes wildly against the thick nylon ropes binding his chest. He kicks his heavy boots against the checkered linoleum floor, but the solid concrete pillar holds him firmly in place. The seven burly thugs tied around him groan and writhe, forming a tangled, pathetic knot of leather jackets and denim in the center of the ruined dining room.
I stand in the bright, hot sunlight just outside the shattered front glass door.
It feels like the smell of gun oil from my morning training session won’t wash off anytime soon. I was really tempted to use Alistair’s body wash earlier because it’s stronger than mine. I regret not using it.
I offer Silas a bright, polite smile. I raise my right hand, giving him a slow, cheerful wave goodbye.
I reach up and grab the rusted iron handle of the exterior roller shutter. I pull it down with a loud, metallic screech that completely drowns out Silas’s angry, muffled roars. The heavy corrugated metal hits the concrete sidewalk with a solid, final thud, sealing the thugs inside the dim restaurant. I turn the heavy brass padlock on the bottom latch, snapping it shut with a satisfying click.
Aunt Cherry stands on the hot asphalt of Oak Street, clutching her canvas tote bag tightly against her chest. Her flour-dusted apron is ruined with dirt and a small spot of dark blood from her split lip. Her chest rises and falls in rapid, shallow breaths. She stares at the locked metal shutter, her knuckles turning completely white around the straps of her bag.
"You saved my family yesterday," I say softly, stepping closer to her. I reach out and gently touch her forearm. The fabric of her sleeve is rough under my fingers. "You gave me the crucial tip about the Greenery Villas lake. You risked your own neck for a child you do not even know. It is only right that I return the favor today and protect you."
Aunt Cherry swallows hard. She looks at my face, her kind, wrinkled eyes searching mine with deep concern. "Silas will not let this go, Emily. He runs with a very nasty crowd. He is a local strongman with powerful people backing his protection rackets in this city. He will come looking for blood."
"I know," I reply, keeping my voice perfectly steady.
I know exactly how dangerous men like Silas can be. But I also know the absolute, crushing power resting back at the Wolfe estate. Alistair could erase Silas Hunt from the city registry with a single phone call. One word from the Wolfe patriarch, and an army of corporate lawyers and private security contractors would bury that entire gang before sunset.
But I refuse to make that call.
If I run to Alistair for every single problem, I remain a pet. I become a delicate bird kept inside a golden cage, useful only for the heir currently growing inside my stomach. There is still a lot I want to do and achieve. It feels too early to be asking for help. I need my own bank accounts and my own leverage. I must handle my own messes to prove I am not the weak, discarded daughter the Vance family kept locked inside a storage room. I will fight my own battles.
"You need to hide," I tell Aunt Cherry. I reach into my dark jacket pocket and pull out the thick white envelope containing the thousand dollars in cash. I press it firmly into her free hand, wrapping her fingers around the paper. "Take your daughter. Leave the city for a few weeks. Stay entirely out of sight until the dust settles. Use this money for travel and hotels."
She looks down at the thick envelope, her eyes watering instantly. She opens her mouth to argue, but I raise a hand to stop her.
"Give me your phone," I say.
She pulls a scratched smartphone from her apron pocket. I quickly type my personal number into her contacts and save it under a false name. I hand the device back to her, ensuring she has a direct lifeline to me.
"Call me when you are safe," I say. "Do not worry about the shop or the damages. I will handle Silas Hunt myself."
Aunt Cherry wipes a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her wrist. She gives me a deep, respectful nod, turns on her heel, and hurries down the hot pavement. I watch her comfortable walking shoes disappear around the corner of a tall brick apartment building, ensuring she is completely out of sight.
The afternoon heat beats down heavily on my shoulders. I turn to Leo. He stands beside the lead armored SUV, his massive frame completely relaxed in the bright daylight. His dark suit absorbs the sunlight, but he does not sweat.
"Thank you," I say, looking up into his rugged, square face. "For respecting my decision. For not stepping in and letting me handle it my way."
Leo tilts his head slightly. The faint scar near his left ear stretches as a genuine, approving smile touches the corners of his mouth. "You did not need my help, Mrs. Wolfe. You walked into a room full of violent men and neutralized the entire threat without chambering a single round. That was an exceptional performance."
A sudden rush of surprise warms my cheeks. I look down at my hands. My raw thumbs still ache fiercely from practicing the slide disassembly this morning, but my fingers are perfectly still. They are not shaking.
When I held Alistair’s gun at the freezing lake yesterday, my entire body vibrated with absolute terror. My heart raced, and my knees felt like water. Today, I felt nothing but a cold, sharp focus. The panic never arrived. The training is already rewiring my brain, turning my fear into a calculated weapon.
"We are not done yet," I say, turning my gaze down the long block. "The Didi Coffee Shop is just two streets over. We also still need to thank the barista who helped me yesterday."
Leo nods, stepping back to give me space. "Lead the way, Ma’am."
I start walking down the pavement, my leather boots involuntarily sounding against the concrete sidewalk.
LEO
I do what I do best. Stay in position.
My boots fall silently on the hot asphalt as I trail exactly two steps behind Miss Emily. I keep my eyes constantly moving, scanning the rooftops, the parked cars, and the narrow alleyways between the brick buildings. My five years in the Special Forces ingrained a permanent threat assessment protocol into my brain, and I never turn it off.
I watch the steady, confident sway of her shoulders under the dark zip-up jacket. I fully expected to break at least three jaws today. When Silas Hunt raised his hand and struck the old woman inside the pizza shop, my muscles coiled tight. I was a fraction of a second away from crossing the room and snapping his neck over the prep counter.
But the new Wolfe matriarch moved first.
I have protected wealthy politicians, spoiled billionaires, and decorated military generals. Most civilians freeze completely when sudden violence erupts. They scream, they hide under tables, or they panic and run blindly into danger. Miss Emily did not even blink. She slipped through a crowd of terrified customers like a ghost, drew a weapon she knew was completely empty, and bluffed a hardened street gang into tying themselves to a concrete pillar.
Her physical profile is highly deceiving. She looks small and fragile with her dark hair and pale skin. Her background file says she was abused and hidden away by Thomas and Lydia Vance for years. Alistair gave me strict orders to protect her because he thinks she is vulnerable. He thinks her past broke her spirit.
He is entirely wrong.
Her mind is a steel trap. She uses her intellect as a weapon, calculating angles and exploiting weaknesses in real time. She completely dominated a room of hostile combatants using nothing but pure psychological pressure and a piece of unloaded steel. She didn’t rely on my fists or the armored SUVs waiting outside. She took absolute control.
I reach into the inner pocket of my tailored suit jacket and pull out my encrypted smartphone. My thumb taps the dark glass screen, opening the secure media folder hidden behind a biometric lock.
I stood in the corner of that pizza shop with my camera lens angled perfectly. I recorded every single second of the confrontation. I captured the exact moment she shoved the cold steel into Silas’s lap, the absolute, paralyzing terror on his scarred face, and her cold, mocking smile as she walked out the door.
Alistair needs to see exactly who he married. He needs to understand that his wife is not a liability to be managed, but a lethal asset to be respected.
I attach the high-definition video file to a secure, encrypted message thread connecting directly to the Wolfe corporate tower. I type a short, precise caption beneath the video attachment.
*An update on Miss Emily’s day sir*
I press send. The green progress bar fills instantly, dispatching the footage directly to Alistair’s private server. I slip the phone back into my jacket pocket, my lips curling into a wide, quiet grin. I adjust my stride, closing the distance to stay right inside her shadow as we approach the corner coffee shop.