Chapter 29 - The Ashes of Eleanor House
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The fire burned for three agonizing hours.
I stood behind the yellow police barricades, wrapped in a foil emergency blanket provided by an EMT, watching firefighters battle the blaze that had consumed the east wing of Eleanor House.
Miraculously, and thankfully, the site manager confirmed that all construction workers had successfully evacuated. There were no casualties, only a few minor injuries from smoke inhalation.
But the structural damage to the building was catastrophic. Months of progress, millions of dollars in investment, and the desperate hope of hundreds of families waiting for medical housing had been violently reduced to rubble and ash.
Luca arrived in a black SUV, screeching to a halt near the barricades. He sprinted toward me, pushing past a police officer, his face pale with sheer terror.
“Emma!” he shouted, grabbing my shoulders and looking me over frantically. “Are you hurt? Did you breathe the smoke?”
“I’m fine, Luca. I’m okay,” I assured him, though my voice was trembling uncontrollably. I leaned into his chest, seeking his warmth.
“What happened?” he demanded, looking at the burning building.
“It was Vivian,” I said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “She called me right after the explosion. She planted a bomb in the parking garage.”
Luca’s expression darkened into something utterly terrifying. The reformed billionaire vanished, completely replaced by the ruthless, calculating boss of the Moretti syndicate.
“She crossed the line,” Luca stated, his voice a low, lethal hum. “She tried to kill you.”
“She wants to destroy everything we care about until we pay her,” I realized, shivering despite the blanket.
“I will handle Vivian,” Luca promised, his eyes tracking the flames. “She is a dead woman walking.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his head of security.
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“Find her,” Luca ordered sharply. “Tear this city apart. I want every hotel, every safe house, every airstrip locked down. She does not leave New York alive.”
I listened to him issue the orders, feeling a chilling mix of relief and dread. We were no longer fighting a legal battle in pristine boardrooms. We had officially been dragged back into the bloody, violent streets that Antonio Moretti had built his empire upon.
