Chapter 6 - The First Step He Couldn’t Take
By sunrise, the Moretti estate looked normal again.
That was the frightening part.
Guards stood at the gates.
Breakfast was served.
Phones rang.
Cars arrived.
Employees crossed polished marble floors as though nobody had broken into my bedroom looking for evidence only hours earlier.
Power depended on appearances.
Chaos looked much less dangerous when wrapped in expensive architecture.
Pierce and the two guards who had accompanied him vanished.
Their phones went dark.
Luke ordered a quiet internal review.
Victor Moretti called at nine.
I stared at the screen.
Emma stood beside the window.
"Are you going to answer?"
"Eventually."
"Why wait?"
"People reveal things when they're uncomfortable."
The phone stopped.
Thirty seconds later it rang again.
I answered.
"Uncle."
"Danny."
Victor's voice sounded warm.
Concerned.
Perfect.
"I heard there was some security trouble."
From whom?
I didn't ask.
"Minor issue."
"Pierce isn't answering."
"Maybe he's sleeping."
"Danny."
"What?"
"Should I come over?"
"No."
A pause.
"I've been worried about you."
"That's touching."
"Luke told me you're doing physical therapy again."
My eyes met Emma's.
There.
Victor knew.
"Luke talks too much."
"How's it going?"
"Terribly."
Another pause.
Good.
"Doctors still pessimistic?"
"Completely."
I could almost hear him relax.
"Don't push yourself."
"I won't."
"You've been through enough."
"So everyone keeps telling me."
Victor sighed.
"Your father would hate seeing you hurt yourself chasing false hope."
That nearly broke my control.
My father had been dead six years.
Victor invoking him felt calculated.
I replied calmly.
"Maybe."
"Let me know if you need anything."
"I will."
I disconnected.
Emma stared.
"He sounded concerned."
"Victor has spent forty years sounding like whatever he needs to sound like."
"Do you think he did it?"
"I think we don't know enough."
"Luke seems convinced."
"Luke knows evidence isn't proof."
"Is there a difference?"
"Always."
She considered that.
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing."
Emma blinked.
"Nothing?"
"I'm going to rehab."
She almost smiled.
"That's your plan?"
"It's part of it."
"If Victor wants you to stay in the chair—"
"Then the easiest way to make him comfortable is convincing him I will."
Understanding appeared in her eyes.
"You lied about therapy."
"I lie professionally."
"I noticed."
At eleven, Grant arrived.
Luke had told him only that there were security issues.
Grant didn't ask questions.
Smart.
The session happened in a smaller room without cameras.
Parallel bars stood in front of me.
Grant adjusted the braces.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Didn't sleep?"
"Busy night."
Emma coughed.
I glanced at her.
She gave me an innocent expression.
Grant didn't miss it.
His eyebrows lifted.
"Don't," I warned.
"I didn't say anything."
"Everybody around me has become Luke."
"Terrifying thought."
He positioned my feet.
"Ready?"
"No."
"Good."
The first attempt failed.
So did the second.
Third.
Fourth.
By the fifth, sweat ran down my back.
My shoulders burned.
"Again," Grant said.
"I hate you."
"Common side effect of good rehabilitation."
I pushed.
Nothing.
My hands slipped.
I slammed back into the chair.
"Enough."
Grant remained silent.
I looked at my legs.
The familiar hatred returned.
Two years.
Two years since I'd stood without thinking.
Two years since I'd walked across a room.
Two years since I woke expecting my legs to move before remembering they wouldn't.
"Again," Emma said.
I looked at her.
Grant did too.
She stood near the wall.
"Don't."
"I'm not doing anything."
"Exactly."
Her expression softened.
"Again."
Something inside me snapped.
"Why?"
She flinched slightly.
I hated myself immediately but couldn't stop.
"Why does everybody keep pretending this is going somewhere?"
Nobody answered.
"I moved two inches once. Congratulations."
Grant started to speak.
"No."
I pointed at my legs.
"These don't work."
Emma stepped forward.
"Maybe they will."
"Maybe isn't a life."
She stopped.
The room went silent.
I hated the words the moment they left me.
Because Emma lived on maybe.
Maybe her mother would recognize her.
Maybe the bills would be manageable.
Maybe tomorrow would be easier.
She understood uncertainty better than I did.
Her voice was quiet.
"No. Maybe isn't a life."
I looked at her.
"But giving up isn't one either."
There was no pity in her expression.
That mattered.
I turned back toward the bars.
"Again."
Grant said nothing.
He locked the braces.
I gripped the rails.
Push.
My arms strained.
My stomach tightened.
Nothing.
"Again."
Push.
My body lifted.
An inch.
Two.
Then higher.
Grant's hands hovered beside me without touching.
I breathed through clenched teeth.
"Hold."
"I am."
"Five seconds."
My arms shook.
"Four."
Emma's hands covered her mouth.
"Three."
Pain ripped through my lower back.
"Two."
Something fired inside my right thigh.
Not phantom pain.
Different.
A contraction.
My knee locked.
For the first time, a tiny fraction of my weight transferred through my leg.
I gasped.
"Grant."
"I know."
"Do you feel that?"
"No."
But I saw it.
My body was upright.
Supported mostly by my arms and braces.
But upright.
"One."
I lowered myself.
The moment I hit the chair, I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Grant grinned.
Emma was crying openly now.
"Dust?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Terrible dust."
I held out my hand.
She came closer.
I expected her to take it.
Instead, she wrapped both arms around me.
I froze.
Then hugged her back.
The room disappeared.
For a few seconds, there was no Victor.
No sniper.
No empire.
No wheelchair.
Only Emma's face against my shoulder and the strange realization that I wanted her there.
Grant cleared his throat.
We separated.
"Professional environment," he said.
"You're fired."
"See you tomorrow."
He left laughing.
Emma wiped her eyes.
"You stood."
"Technically."
"You stood."
"With braces."
"Still counts."
I looked at her.
She was glowing with happiness.
For me.
Not because she was paid.
Not because she owed me.
Because she cared.
The thought terrified me more than therapy.
I reached toward her face.
Stopped.
Emma noticed.
The air changed.
Neither of us moved.
Her eyes lowered to my mouth.
Then back to mine.
For one dangerous second, I forgot every reason not to cross the distance.
Then Luke burst through the door.
"We have a problem."
Emma stepped backward.
I dropped my hand.
Luke looked between us.
"Should I come back?"
"No," I said too quickly.
Emma looked away.
"What happened?" I asked.
Luke handed me a tablet.
A security photo.
Emma leaving the diner.
Taken yesterday.
Another.
Emma entering her mother's care facility.
Another.
Emma boarding the bus toward my estate.
My chest turned cold.
"Where did these come from?"
"Anonymous email."
There was one line beneath the photographs.
STOP DIGGING INTO NORTHLAKE.
Emma's face drained of color.
Luke looked at me.
"They're watching her."
I stared at the photo of Emma standing outside her mother's facility.
A man could threaten me.
Shoot me.
Paralyze me.
Take half my empire.
There were rules to that world.
But using Emma changed everything.
She looked at me.
"Danny."
I gave Luke the tablet.
"Move her mother."
Emma stepped forward.
"What?"
"Immediately."
"You can't just move—"
"I'm not asking."
"Danny."
I looked directly at her.
The fear in my face must have silenced her.
Because this time, my control was gone.
"They know where your mother is."
Emma swallowed.
"We don't know they'd hurt her."
"No."
I moved toward the door.
"But I'm not gambling with her life."
Luke followed.
Emma remained behind for a moment.
Then hurried after us.
I had spent two years believing the worst thing anyone could take from me had already been taken.
My legs.
My independence.
My future.
I was wrong.
Because somewhere between the hallway, the medication bottle, and that impossible moment standing between parallel bars, Emma Carter had become something I could lose.
And unlike my legs...
May you like
I wasn't prepared to survive losing her.
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