Page 42 of Killing Emma

Chapter Nineteen

Emma

He’s trying.

That’s all I’ve thought since he carried me to the bed and held me for hours. Strangely, I almost feel normal as I sit here across the table from Luca. He doesn’t look like a killer, though he does appear tired. The dark circles are more pronounced under his golden eyes in the glow of the dining room light. He might be part monster, but there’s a shred of decency in him that I’m clinging to for my survival.

As if he knows I’m staring, he looks up at me. “I have to run an errand,” Luca’s voice comes out low as I lay my fork on the ceramic plate. “And you have to stay here. I can’t… I can’t risk someone seeing you. You’re all over the news right now.”

“Really?” I can’t hide my surprise. “I didn’t think anyone would even notice I was gone.”

“Your divorce lawyer proved otherwise.” There’s something heavy in his tone, and I can’t tell if he hates the subject—or if there’s more to the story. “He’s worried about you, along with your friend… Lydia.”

I’m floored. “She’s spoken on the news? I can’t imagine her ever getting in front of a camera. Not even for me.” I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. She’s as private as they come, but I can’t lie, hearing that someone is worried about me—even if it’s Kyle—makes me feel less invisible.

“I have more sources than the news,” he says quietly.

I don’t pry. I don’t want to know what his sources are, but it still begs the question… “So, you really don’t know who wants to kill me?” His gaze drops to the plate, and that is an answer in and of itself. “Who is it?” I push the plate away, thankful I already finished the leftovers he brought with him when he returned last night. Otherwise, my appetite would be gone.

“I don’t know… exactly. I’m meeting with someone today.” The vagueness in his answer has my stomach churning in the worst way.

“Who… Who do you think it is?” I don’t want to let my brain jump to conclusions, demanding him own up to it.

“Potentially, it could be… shit,” he grunts, running his hand over his face. “It might be your husband. It’s always the fucking husband, and on top of that… I have a deadline.”

I nearly choke on the oxygen I just breathed in. “What do you mean, deadline?”

“Thirty-one days.”

My brows furrow, confusion settling in my chest. What does that even mean? He has to kill me in thirty-one days? But the puzzlement only lasts a few beats as my mind puts it together…

No way… There’s no way.

I shake my head. “He wouldn’t.”

Luca grows eerily quiet as he pushes back from the table. He collects the dishes and carries them toward the sink, not bothering to offer any consolation or explanation. My head spins, and I expect myself to cry, but no tears come.

“He… He wanted me back,” I say, my voice pitchy and strained. “He came to my house. He begged me. He’s not it.”

Luca drops the plates in an obnoxious clatter. “I never said he was it. I’m only giving you the evidence I have, but it’s damning.” He doesn’t look at me as he turns on the faucet.

“That’s all the evidence you have? Really? Just a deadline?” I don’t know why it brings me relief, and it’s strong evidence, but I just… I can’t let myself believe it.

Luca methodically washes the dishes in the sink, carefully placing them on the drying rack. “You can choose to be in denial if you want, but he has to be involved.”

“I’m not in denial,” I shoot back at him. “I’m just saying you don’t have solid proof. It’s circumstantial at best. He loves me,” I reason, pushing back from the table. “It has to be someone else.”

Luca laughs. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

I narrow my gaze. “You just said that’s all you have—the deadline. Maybe someone used it because they wanted you to think it was Jared.”

“No one gives a shit what I think, and you signed a prenup. He’s got thirty-one days to cash in on your death, Emma. It’s not fucking rocket science, though I have to admit, he gave one hell of a speech to you outside your house. You think the Ring Camera caught that?” The way he taunts me with an eyebrow raised stings.

And I stand to my feet, shaking my head. “My camera should’ve caught you, too.”

“Oh no,” he smirks. “No, we have people for that, Little Red. But I’m sure they left that tantrum of yours on there. Solidifies that you’re unstable in the investigation. I’m surprised it hasn’t aired on the news. It was the last sighting of you.”

My lips part as my face flushes with heat. I hadn’t considered that he had seen my moment of chaos, but still. “Why’re you being like this to me now? You were just… You spent almost all day with me outside playing with the dog—and now, you’re talking to me like I’m just the whore in your basement.”

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