Chapter 4 - The Price of Defiance
Willa gripped the handle of an iron skillet resting on the stove, keeping her back against the kitchen wall. "Get away from my door, or I'm calling the police!"
A dry, mocking chuckle came from the other side. "The police? Sweetheart, the precinct captain plays golf with our boss every Sunday. Open the door, hand over the phone and the backup drive, and your little brother gets to keep sketching his pretty planes."
The mention of Toby made Willa's blood run cold. She reached for her phone to dial 911, knowing full well the response time in Bridgeport could take twenty agonizing minutes.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed in the stairwell outside.
Muffled shouts, the wet thud of fists against flesh, and the sound of a body hitting the plaster wall shook the hallway. Willa held her breath, listening in terror as the scuffle ended almost as quickly as it began. Silence fell, broken only by heavy, composed footsteps approaching her door.
A firm, double knock followed.
"Miss Doyle." It wasn't the thug's voice. It was Luca, August Sartori’s right-hand man. "Open the door. You're safe."
Trembling, Willa unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open a crack. In the hallway, the two intruders lay unconscious and bound with heavy zip-ties on the linoleum. Luca stood beside them, dusting off his leather gloves, flanked by two towering men in sharp overcoats.
"Mr. Sartori anticipated Pike might make an error in judgment," Luca said calmly. "He instructed us to ensure your perimeter remained secure."
Willa swallowed hard, looking at the bruised men on the floor. "August sent you?"
"Pack your brother's things," Luca replied, stepping aside. "You're leaving. Now."
"I'm not running away!" Willa protested, anger flaring through her shock. "This is my home!"
"With all due respect, Miss Doyle, this is a third-floor trap with no fire escape," Luca countered without raising his voice. "Ray Howerin and Gordon Pike have realized that your testimony can send them to federal prison. They won't send amateurs next time. Mr. Sartori has arranged a secure residence for you and Toby. My orders are to bring you there safely, or stay here and turn your front porch into a fortress. It's your choice."
Twenty minutes later, Willa and a bewildered Toby were escorted down to a waiting armored SUV. As the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, Willa watched Toby clutch his sketchbook, his eyes wide with fear and awe.
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They weren't taken to a dingy safehouse or an underground hideout. The vehicle pulled into the private gated driveway of a stately stone manor in Lincoln Park. Standing in the foyer under a brilliant crystal chandelier was Rosalyn Sartori herself, dressed in a soft cashmere cardigan, leaning on a polished cane.
"Come inside, child," Rosalyn said, her voice warm yet regal as she opened her arms to Willa. "You saved an old woman's life. It's about time this family showed you what Sartori loyalty actually means."
