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“The shooter’s still out there,” I rasp. “I need to make sure he doesn’t leave.”
Turning on my heel, I leave Emberly in my bed, resolving to either stay up all night or sleep somewhere else.
THIRTY-ONE
EMBERLY
The next morning, I wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding so hard that it could break free from my chest. Sweat coats my brow, and every limb trembles as though I’m still under attack.
Gruesome images of the young police officer’s head exploding replays through my mind in a relentless assault. The stench of gunpowder and copper invades my sinuses and fills my lungs until I choke. It’s harrowing, but nothing compares to the gut-wrenching sensation of being splattered by a rain of brain fragments and warm blood.
Jim won’t stop coming after me until he’s gotten revenge, and he has the full backing of the police. The only thing standing between my painful, humiliating death is Roman.
I roll to the other side of the mattress, expecting him to be there like he was when Dominic tried to strangle me to death, but it’s empty. The sheets are still tucked in, looking like he’s stayed up all night.
My gaze wanders around a bedroom twice the size of the one I have in the pool house. The morning sun colors its pale walls a gentle shade of orange that glints on the iron footboard’s gold embellishments.
On my right are floor-to-ceiling patio doors that lead to a balcony tiled in limestone, complete with slimline columns and a matching railing. The cream furniture looks antique and too opulent for guests. This bedroom must belong to Roman.
My fingers grip the pillow, and I inhale the familiar scents of leather, cedar, and something so masculine it slows my pulse. Calmness washes over my frayed nerves at the reminder of how Roman always has my back, offering comfort and protection whenever I’m in danger.
Roman told me that I’m safe, and I believe him. He won’t stop defending me until Jim is six feet under and I can finally be free.
A phone rings, snapping me out of my musings. I glance around to find the sound coming from a landline on Roman’s bedside table. When it doesn’t switch to voicemail, I roll to the other side of the bed and pick up the receiver.
“Hello?” I rasp.
“May I speak with Roman, please?” asks a deep, cultured voice.
“He’s not here at the moment,” I reply. “Can I take a message?”
The man on the other end of the line sighs. “Please tell him it’s Ernest Lubelli, from the MoCa gallery. That’s L-U-B-E-L-L-I. We didn’t get a chance to speak last night, but I’d like to invite him to the auction we’re holding in a few days.”
My heart skips several beats. My breath quickens. My throat dries, and my heart beats twice as fast. All the afterimages from last night fade at the prospect of getting closer to my dream.
“Mr. Lubelli?” I try to level my voice to mask my excitement, but my adrenaline is still high and I’m still on edge.
“Yes?” he replies.
“It’s Emberly Kay. We met last night.”
“Roman’s charming date,” he says, his voice filled with warmth.
“That’s right,” I reply, my pulse ratcheting up to a hundred. “Were you serious when you asked to see my paintings?”
“Of course. Roman and his family have such exquisite taste. I’m always looking for the chance to discover a new artist. Do you only specialize in portraits?”
“I-I also paint abstracts, but my art teacher in New Jersey wanted us to have a rounded education. I’m still experimenting, but I like to be inspired by people and nature.”
“Well, I’m more than interested in perusing your portfolio,” he says. “Do you still have my card?”
My fingers tremble as I slide them deep into my bra and finding the thick paper. “Yes. I’ll email what I have today.”
“Please be sure to include Roman’s portrait,” Mr. Lubelli says. “I’m interested to see how you would interpret his classically handsome features.”
My stomach drops. Roman sat for me for hours, but the painting still isn’t complete. “Sure,” I say, my mind racing. “It might take a little time. There’s a lot going on in the house right now, and Roman wants me to stay where it’s safe.”
“That’s understandable,” he replies with a nervous chuckle. “I hope you didn’t get hurt in the chaos.”
