Chapter 3 Shattered Illusion

I locked the gallery door behind me, my hands shaking. The encounter with Lorenzo had shaken me deeply, bringing back memories I'd tried hard to forget. I leaned against the cool glass, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Get it together, Emma," I whispered, using the name I had chosen for my new life. "You're not Aria anymore. You're safe."

But the words felt like a lie. Lorenzo's appearance shattered the safety I thought I had built over the last five years. I pushed away from the door, my heels echoing on the floor as I walked to my office.

The gallery was eerily quiet, the sculptures casting long shadows. This place used to bring me comfort, surrounded by beauty and art. But now, every dark corner seemed like a potential threat.

I sat at my desk and turned on my computer. There was work to do-emails to send, an upcoming show to plan. I needed something normal to focus on, anything to keep the panic at bay.

An hour passed as I worked on spreadsheets and inventory lists. The routine calmed me, but something still felt wrong. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. My instincts, honed from growing up in a Mafia family, told me so.

I pulled up the gallery's financial records, frowning as I looked through the transactions. Everything seemed normal at first, but then I saw it.

"That doesn't look right," I murmured, leaning closer.

There were large purchases from unfamiliar names, with amounts that were suspiciously round. My heart raced as I dug deeper, following the money trail.

With every click, the truth became clearer. Someone was using my gallery to launder money-a lot of money.

"No, no, no," I whispered, panic rising in my voice. "This can't be happening."

But it was right there in black and white. Somehow, my gallery had become a front for illegal activities without me knowing. The very thing I'd run from had found me again.

My mind raced. How long had this been going on? Who was behind it? And did Lorenzo know? Is that why he had appeared after all these years?

I reached for my phone, ready to call the police, but then I stopped. If I reported this, I'd have to explain everything. My false identity would be exposed. And if the Mafia was involved...

A soft sound from the gallery made me freeze. I held my breath, straining to listen. There it was again-a faint scrape of a shoe against the concrete.

Someone was in the gallery.

I stood up slowly, my heart pounding. The lamp on my desk felt too bright, like it was giving me away. I switched it off, plunging the office into darkness.

I stayed still, thinking about what to do. I could hide and hope they would leave. But if they were here for the financial records...

I had to know who it was.

I slipped off my heels, the cold floor shocking against my bare feet, and crept to the office door. I opened it just a crack.

A beam of light swept across the gallery, lighting up paintings and sculptures in quick flashes. A figure moved between the artworks, their face hidden in shadow.

I almost gasped as the intruder stopped at a sculpture that had always seemed off-balance to me. With practiced ease, they lifted the sculpture, revealing a hidden compartment in its base.

My mind reeled. How long had that been there? What else in my gallery wasn't what it seemed?

The intruder pulled out a small package, tucking it into their jacket. As they turned, the light hit their face for a moment.

I stifled a cry of shock. It was Marco, my assistant manager. The man I had trusted for the past two years.

Before I could fully grasp this betrayal, Marco's head snapped up. Had I made a sound? I shrank back into the shadows, praying he hadn't seen me.

Footsteps approached, slow and cautious.

I looked around frantically for something to defend myself with. My eyes landed on a heavy crystal paperweight-a gift from a client. I grabbed it, the weight reassuring in my hand.

The footsteps stopped just outside my office. I saw Marco's shadow under the door.

One heartbeat. Two.

The door handle began to turn.

I raised the paperweight, ready to strike-

A phone rang, loud and shrill in the silence.

Marco cursed softly. The ringing continued, muffled as if coming from his pocket. After a moment's hesitation, the shadow moved away. I heard Marco's low voice as he answered the call, moving back into the gallery.

I slumped against the wall, my legs weak with relief. But I couldn't stay here. I had to get out.

But where? My mind raced, but every option seemed impossible. I couldn't go home-if Marco was involved, he knew where I lived. I couldn't call the police. And Lorenzo...

I shook my head. I couldn't think about Lorenzo now.

Marco's voice grew louder, angry. "What do you mean, she knows? How could-" He stopped abruptly.

Ice ran through me. They knew I had discovered the money laundering. But how?

There was no time to wonder. I had to move.

I eased the office door open wider, peeking out. Marco's back was to me, his attention on the phone call. This was my chance.

Holding the paperweight tightly, I slipped out of the office. My bare feet made no sound as I crept along the wall, using the sculptures for cover.

I was halfway to the exit when disaster struck. My hip bumped a pedestal, sending a small glass vase crashing to the floor.

Marco spun around, his eyes wide with surprise as he saw me. "Aria?!"

Hearing my real name hit me like a blow. Marco knew. He had always known.

"You," I gasped. "How long have you-"

But there was no time for questions. Marco lunged at me, his face twisted with rage and fear.

I didn't think. I just reacted.

The paperweight flew from my hand, hitting Marco squarely in the forehead with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.

For a moment, I stood frozen, staring at Marco's still form. The weight of what I had just done threatened to overwhelm me.

A groan from Marco snapped me back to reality. He was alive, but he wouldn't be out for long.

I ran.

My fingers fumbled with the lock, precious seconds ticking by as I fought to open the door. Finally, it swung open, and I burst into the warm Miami night.

The street was deserted, neon signs from nearby bars the only light. I looked left, then right, unsure of where to go.

A movement in the gallery window caught my eye. Marco, blood running down his face, staggered into view. His eyes locked onto mine, filled with fury.

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a gun.

I ran.

The sound of shattering glass and a gunshot echoed as I sprinted down the sidewalk, my bare feet slapping the pavement. I didn't look back, didn't slow down. I just ran, my mind swirling with fear and disbelief.

Everything I'd built, every illusion of safety, had been shattered in one night.

I had no idea where I was going.

I only knew I couldn't stop.