Page 14 of King of Manhattan

I gently extricate myself from her embrace, careful not to wake her. As I pad to the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The man staring back at me is a far cry from the hardened crime boss my enemies fear. My hair is mussed, eyes soft with sleep and something else - something I'm not quite ready to name.

In the kitchen, I start the coffee maker and pull out my phone. There are already a dozen messages from Marco about last night's incident. I skim through them, my jaw clenching as I read the details. The man from the restaurant was more than just a random troublemaker. He was sent by the Colombians - a warning shot across the bow.

I fire off a quick response to Marco, instructing him to handle it. "Send a message," I type. "Make it clear that any threat to Emily is a declaration of war." My finger hovers over the send button for a moment before I press it. It's a dangerous move, acknowledging Emily's importance so openly. But after last night, the lines are already blurred.

As the coffee brews, I lean against the counter, lost in thought. How did I get here? When did Emily Bennett become so essential to my world? I think back to our first meeting - her sharp wit, the way she stood her ground even as I towered over her. From that first moment, she intrigued me in a way no one else ever had.

And now? Now, the thought of losing her makes my chest tight, my palms sweaty. It's a weakness I can't afford, but one I'm no longer willing to give up.

The coffee maker beeps, pulling me from my thoughts. I pour two mugs and head back to the bedroom. Emily's awake now, sitting up with the sheet pulled around her. She looks beautiful, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes, but there's a wariness in her gaze that wasn't there before. It's a look I've seen countless times - in rival gangsters, in politicians I've bought, in cops I've turned. But never from her. Never from Emily.

"Morning," I say, handing her a mug of coffee. The normalcy of the gesture feels absurd after the events of last night. "We need to talk."

She nods, accepting the coffee. "Yeah, we do."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I've negotiated million-dollar deals, stared down the barrels of guns, but somehow, this feels more daunting than any of that.

"Emily, what you saw last night... it's not uncommon in my world. I've tried to keep you separate from that part of my life, but I see now that's not possible."

"What exactly is 'that part of your life', Vince?" she asks, her voice steady. Always so brave, my Emily.

I meet her gaze, determined to give her the truth she deserves. "I run what some would call a criminal enterprise. It's more complex than that, but essentially, I control a significant portion of the city's underground economy. Drugs, gambling, protection... we have our fingers in a lot of pies."

I watch as the information sinks in. Emily's face pales, but she doesn't look away. Her resilience never fails to impress me.

"That man last night?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A warning to me. He won't be a problem anymore." The words come out harsher than I intend, a glimpse of the man I am when I'm not with her.

Emily flinches at the implication, and I hate myself a little for putting that look on her face. But I've started down this path of honesty, and I can't stop now.

"Have you... killed people, Vince?" Her voice trembles slightly on the question.

I consider lying, sugar-coating the truth. But I've come too far for that now. Emily deserves better. "Yes," I admit, the word heavy on my tongue. "Not often, and never without reason. But yes, I have."

She sets down her coffee mug, her hands shaking slightly. I resist the urge to reach out and steady them, to pull her into my arms and promise that everything will be okay. Because I can't make that promise. Not anymore.

"I think I need some time to process this," she says, her voice small.

I nod, my heart sinking. "I understand. Take all the time you need."

Emily dresses quickly and leaves without another word. I watch her go, fighting the urge to stop her, to beg her to stay. But I know she needs space. And part of me, the part that's always been a survivor, whispers that maybe it's better this way. Safer for her. Safer for me.

The day passes in a blur of meetings and phone calls. I'm distracted, checking my phone constantly for a message from Emily. By evening, I've heard nothing. The silence is deafening.

I throw myself into work, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythms of running my empire. But Emily's absence is a constant ache, a hollow feeling in my chest that no amount of deals or threats can fill.

It's late when Marco bursts into my office. "Boss, we've got a problem. The Colombians are making a move on our territory."

I curse under my breath, feeling the last threads of my normal life slipping away. "Gather the crew. We need to send a message."

The next few days are chaos. I'm working around the clock to keep my empire from crumbling. I barely sleep, barely eat. Every spare moment is spent preparing for our big move.

In the middle of everything, I keep texting Emily. No response. I know things are too hot right now for me to risk going to see her, but as soon as the Colombians are dealt with I will make it my only priority. But now, I need to focus.

Chapter 8

Emily

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