Chapter 4 - A Room With a Door She Could Open
The guesthouse stood behind an old brick mansion in Lincoln Park, with its own driveway, a kitchen full of mismatched mugs, and a blue front door that opened onto a narrow garden. It was not what Emily had expected from a mafia boss.
She had imagined steel gates, men standing under chandeliers, and rules delivered like orders. Instead, a middle-aged housekeeper named Rosa welcomed her with soup, showed her where the spare linens were kept, and pointed out the thermostat.
“Mr. DeLuca said you like to be cold when you sleep,” Rosa told her.
“I said I like fresh air.”
“He hears what he wishes to hear sometimes. Open the window if you want.”
Emily laughed despite herself. It felt unfamiliar, like a language she had nearly forgotten.
Nicholas came by that evening with a folder. It contained the lease for the guesthouse, a temporary payment arrangement for her medical expenses, a list of security contacts, and the number of a lawyer unaffiliated with the DeLuca companies. Emily studied each page.
“This says I can leave whenever I want.”
“You can.”
“Even if your security people object.”
“They can advise you about risk. They cannot keep you here.”
“And the hospital bills?”
“I offered to cover them, not buy a vote in your life.”
She looked up. “You do understand how that sounds, coming from a man who owns half the street?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m learning to hear myself.”
She signed nothing that night. She wanted her own legal advice first. Nicholas accepted it and left the papers on the table.
For two days the world outside seemed determined to punish her for seeking shelter. The hotel video spread across local feeds. Anonymous accounts called her a liar, a schemer, a woman who had targeted a rich man. Somebody found the old bookstore café and left messages accusing Naomi of helping a con artist.
Naomi arrived on Wednesday with takeout and a canvas shopping bag full of used books.
“I brought the things you always stole from the staff shelf,” she announced.
“I borrowed them.”
“You kept Jane Eyre for eleven months.”
“I was making sure it held up.”
Naomi put the bag down, saw Emily’s face, and stopped joking. She crossed the room and held her carefully while Emily cried into her shoulder.
“I should have come sooner,” Naomi whispered.
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew something was wrong when your stepmother came to the café last spring. She asked me whether Nico had money. Not whether he was kind. Not whether you were happy. Whether he had money.”
Emily straightened. “You never told me that.”
“I thought she was just being Patricia. And then you were gone. I should have called.”
“You did call. My number had changed.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “I never got your new one.”
Emily felt another piece of the puzzle settle into place. Somebody had isolated her one connection at a time: the man she loved, her friend, her job, her apartment.
That afternoon, Emily called Hannah Vale, the independent attorney whose name was in Nicholas’s folder. Hannah sounded brisk and practical. She offered to review the guesthouse agreement, advise Emily about the harassment, and help her protect her own records.
“Mr. DeLuca is paying my consultation fee,” Emily said warily.
“Then he will receive an invoice, not your confidences,” Hannah replied. “You are my client. That distinction matters.”
They spent an hour discussing banking documents, employment records, maternity care, and how to preserve threatening messages. For the first time in weeks, Emily felt herself making a plan rather than surviving somebody else’s.
Nicholas came to dinner after a long meeting. Emily had cooked pasta badly, and he ate two helpings without complaint. They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table while the rain tapped against the glass.
“When I first met you,” she said, “you looked like a man waiting for bad news.”
“I probably was.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m afraid good news won’t last.”
She touched her belly. “The baby kicked through my entire appointment today. The doctor said he’s growing well.”
Nicholas’s face softened. “Can I see the ultrasound?”
She handed it over. He held the small gray image as carefully as if it were an original manuscript.
“I missed so much,” he murmured.
“Yes,” Emily said. “You did.”
He let the silence stand. No defense. No elaborate excuse. She was grateful for that.
Later, as they cleaned the plates together, he asked if she would consider letting him come to her next appointment. Emily hesitated, remembering six months of empty chairs and pretending not to notice couples in the waiting room.
“You can come,” she said. “But the doctor answers my questions first.”
“Understood.”
He left before ten. Emily walked him to the blue door. For a moment, she was tempted to ask him to stay. She wanted the old Nico who had listened to her dream of a bookstore. But now there was an entire life attached to that man, and she had to see it clearly before she stepped closer.
At midnight, the garden light came on. Emily looked through the curtains and saw no one. Her independent phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. An unfamiliar number had sent a photograph of the guesthouse, taken through the garden fence that evening.
Beneath it were seven words: Pretty door. Does she know it opens both ways?
Emily’s stomach turned. She did not run outside or call Nicholas first. She locked the windows, moved to the interior hallway, and rang the police and Hannah, then Marco. A security team arrived within minutes.
Marco found the garden gate unlatched. The fence camera had been disconnected for ninety seconds. No person had entered the house, but somebody had approached close enough to photograph the kitchen windows.
Nicholas arrived soaked by the rain, his face set. “Pack a bag. We’re moving you.”
Emily stood beside the door, trembling and angry. “You can ask. You don’t get to command me.”
He stopped. He looked at the image on her phone, then at her.
“You’re right. I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“Will you come somewhere safer tonight?”
She took a breath. “Yes. With Hannah knowing the address. And Naomi too.”
Nicholas nodded. “Agreed.”
As they prepared to leave, Rosa brought Emily her coat. Inside the pocket was a neatly folded paper Emily had not seen before. She opened it with cold fingers.
May you like
It was a copy of her most recent ultrasound.
On the back, someone had written: We know his due date.
