Page 35 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

For the first time since all of this began, I start to believe that we might actually be able to make this work. That beneath the darkness, beneath the fear and the anger, there’s something between us worth holding onto.

Lucas moves across the room, his usual confident stride slightly more deliberate, as if he’s considering each step. He stops by the window, staring out at the city below, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

Is he regretting the way he’s handled things? Or is he just calculating his next move, figuring out how to keep me under control?

I take a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak again. “Lucas,” I begin, my voice softer now, less confrontational. “I need to understand. You say you’re protecting me, but from what? From who?”

He doesn’t turn around, but I see his shoulders tense slightly. “There are people out there who would do anything to hurt me, to take what I have,” he says, his tone flat, almost emotionless. “Albrecht is the worst of them. If he got his hands on you… I don’t even want to think about what he’d do.”

The mention of Albrecht sends another chill down my spine, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the cold feeling of dread. “But why me? Why am I so important to him?”

Lucas finally turns to face me, his expression hard but not unkind. “Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “You’re my wife, and that makes you a target. If Albrecht can get to you, he can get to me. He knows that. And he’ll use you to destroy everything I’ve built. You know the layout of this place. He can use that.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications I’m not sure I’m ready to face. I want to argue, to tell him that I never asked to be part of this, that I didn’t choose this life. But deep down, I know it won’t change anything. I’m in this now, whether I like it or not.

I nod slowly, trying to absorb what he’s saying. “So that’s why you’ve kept me here, locked away,” I say, more to myself than to him. “Because you’re afraid of losing control.”

“I’m afraid of losing you,” he corrects, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t understand the kind of world I live in, Emily. It’s dangerous, brutal. People die every day because they made the wrong choice, trusted the wrong person. I can’t let that happen to you. I won’t.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes me by surprise, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of something I haven’t felt in a long time—hope. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to Lucas than the cold, ruthless man he presents to the world. Maybe, underneath it all, he really does care about me.

Lucas nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll take you to the Museum of Art, early in the morning before it gets crowded. You’ll have the space to breathe for a while. I apologize. I got used to going to the mattresses so much in the early days, I forget most people haven’t done it.”

“Going to the mattresses?”

“When there’s a mob war. It means locking yourself away for safety while you work out a strategy. Over the years I’ve been trapped for weeks, sometimes months at a time.” He grimaces. “I can’t promise freedom every day.”

“The museum’s a start.” I think of Mom and the necklace and the pain of its loss stabs me again.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “For listening.”

He nods, but his expression is still guarded, as if he’s not entirely sure he should be trusting me. “I’m doing this because I know what you need,” he says. “But don’t mistake it for weakness, Emily. I’m still in control here. I have to be.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice steady. “And I’m starting to understand why.”

As Lucas turns away, heading back toward the window, I watch him with a mixture of emotions I can’t quite untangle. He’s still a mystery to me, still someone I’m not sure I can fully trust. But there’s something in the way he looks at me, in the way he’s trying to meet me halfway, that makes me want to try.

25

EMILY

Lucas’s car glides to a stop in front of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The building stands before us, its grandeur illuminated by soft lights, and yet… there’s no one else here.

The steps that are usually teeming with tourists and locals alike are eerily empty. Sure, it’s early, but there should still be people here.

He didn’t say much during the drive, just told me to wear something nice and that he had a surprise for me. I didn’t ask questions because with Lucas, everything seems to be on a need-to-know basis. But I wasn’t expecting this.

“You said this was your mother’s favorite place,” he says quietly, watching me carefully, gauging my reaction. His voice is softer than I’m used to, almost thoughtful. “I thought you might like to see it again.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, caught off guard by the gesture. I don’t know what surprises me more—the fact that he remembered such a small detail, or the fact that he cared enough to act on it.

“Lucas…” I trail off, searching for the right words. Nothing seems fitting.

He steps out of the car and opens my door for me, offering his hand to help me out. I take it, and the warmth of his skin sends a jolt of awareness through me, something I’ve been trying to ignore since this whole mess began.

His grip is firm, steady, and it pulls me into a world where I’m not just some prisoner—at least, not tonight.

I look up at the towering columns and the wide steps leading to the museum’s grand entrance. It’s strange, standing here with no crowds, no bustling city noise. It feels like we’ve stepped into another world—one that’s been built just for us.

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