Painted Sins

My heels tapped lightly on the gallery floor as I made the final touches. The moonlight streamed through the tall windows, making shadows stretch across the polished concrete. I adjusted a painting slightly, making sure it was perfect for the late-night client I was about to meet.

"Everything has to be just right," I whispered, smoothing down my white blouse.

It had been five years since I left behind the name Aria Rossi and everything tied to it. Now, I was Emma Collins, a respected gallery owner in Miami. I had built this life carefully, piece by piece, just like the art I curated.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my assistant, Mia: "Client's car just pulled up. Good luck!"

I took a deep breath. This wasn't just any client. The request had come through strange channels-hints of connections that made me uneasy. But the opportunity was too good to ignore, especially with the plans I had for the gallery.

The soft chime of the security system signaled the door opening. I put on my best smile and turned to greet the guest.

"Welcome to Lumière Gallery," I started to say, but the words got stuck in my throat when I saw who it was.

Time seemed to slow down. My heart pounded, each beat a painful reminder of a past I thought I had buried.

It couldn't be him. But there he was, looking as handsome as the day I left him at the altar. Lorenzo Caruso, heir to one of New York's most powerful crime families-the man I almost married.

"Hello, Aria," Lorenzo said, his voice sending shivers down my spine. "Or should I say... Emma?"

I tried to keep my face calm, my years of practice helping me stay composed. "I'm sorry, sir. You must be mistaken. I'm Emma Collins, the gallery owner. How can I help you tonight?"

Lorenzo's eyes locked onto mine as he walked closer, each step slow and deliberate. I stood my ground, even though every part of me wanted to run.

"Let's not play games, Aria," he said, stopping just inches from me. "Five years is a long time, but not long enough to forget the woman who was supposed to be my wife."

The smell of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, brought back memories I had fought to forget-stolen kisses, whispered promises, and the engagement ring I left behind.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Mr. Caruso, I assure you-"

"Your eyes give you away," Lorenzo interrupted, brushing a strand of hair from my face. I flinched at his touch, and his expression hardened. "Even with the blonde hair and those contacts."

My carefully built world was falling apart. I took a step back, putting space between us. "How did you find me?"

Lorenzo's lips curled into a cold smile. "You're not as clever as you think, Aria. Did you really believe you could disappear without a trace? That I wouldn't find you?"

"You shouldn't have come," I whispered. "You have no idea what you've done."

"What I've done?" Lorenzo's eyes flashed with anger. "You left me at the altar. You disappeared, leaving me to deal with the fallout. Do you know what that did to my family's reputation? To me?"

Guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it away. He didn't understand. He couldn't.

"I had my reasons," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, I'm sure you did," Lorenzo replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm here to hear every single one."

I glanced towards the door, wondering if I could escape. As if reading my mind, Lorenzo moved to block my way.

"Don't even think about it, Aria," he warned. "We have a lot to talk about, and I'm not leaving until I get answers."

My mind raced, searching for a way out. I had been so careful, covered my tracks so well. How had he found me? And who else might know where I was?

"Lorenzo, please," I said, letting a hint of desperation into my voice. "You have to leave. You don't know what you're getting into."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly am I getting into, Aria? What was so bad that you had to run from everything-from me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but I saw movement outside the gallery's windows. A black SUV had pulled up, its tinted windows hiding whoever was inside.

Lorenzo noticed it too, his body tensing. "Expecting company?"

"No," I breathed, fear creeping into my voice. "We need to go. Now."

Before Lorenzo could respond, the gallery lights went out, leaving us in darkness. The security alarm blared, red lights flashing in the room.

"What the hell?" Lorenzo muttered, reaching into his jacket. I saw the glint of a gun.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the silence. I ducked instinctively, pulling Lorenzo down with me as bullets whizzed overhead, smashing the art around us.

"This way!" I yelled, crawling towards the back of the gallery. Lorenzo followed, firing back as we moved.

We reached the storage room, and I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking as I tried to unlock the door. Lorenzo pressed against me, protecting me as more shots rang out.

"Any time now, Aria," he growled.

Finally, the lock clicked open, and we stumbled into the room. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

"There's a panic room," I gasped, pointing to a hidden door in the wall. "We should be safe there until-"

My words were cut off by a loud explosion from the main gallery. The floor shook, and I nearly fell, but Lorenzo caught me.

"Until what?" Lorenzo demanded, his face close to mine. "Until whoever's trying to kill us breaks in? Who are they, Aria? What have you gotten yourself into?"

I looked into his eyes, seeing the anger, confusion, and hurt I had caused him years ago. I knew there was no going back. My life as Emma Collins was over.

"Lorenzo," I said softly, barely audible over the chaos outside. "There's something I need to tell you. The reason I left... it wasn't what you think."

His grip tightened on my arms. "Then what was it?"

I took a deep breath, preparing to reveal everything. But before I could, the storage room door exploded inward, splinters flying everywhere.

Smoke filled the room as dark figures appeared, their guns aimed at us. Lorenzo shoved me behind him, his gun ready.

"Well, well," a familiar, chilling voice said through the smoke. "Isn't this a touching reunion?"

My blood froze as the speaker came into view. It was a face I had hoped to never see again-the very reason I ran all those years ago.

Lorenzo's sharp intake of breath told me he recognized the man too. "It can't be," he whispered. "You're dead. I saw you die."

The man's laughter echoed in the room, cold and heartless. "Oh, Lorenzo. In our world, death is often just another illusion."

As the smoke cleared and the full horror of our situation became clear, one thought filled my mind: The past I had run from had finally caught up with me, and there was no escape.