Page 58 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

Lucas catches Albrecht with a sharp uppercut to the jaw, sending him reeling backward. But Albrecht recovers quickly, lunging forward with a wild swing that Lucas barely ducks in time.

The two men are relentless, neither giving an inch, and the room seems to shrink around them, the air thick with the sound of grunts, heavy breathing, and the crash of bodies slamming into walls and furniture.

My heart is in my throat, the fear and adrenaline mixing into a potent cocktail that makes my hands tremble. I want to do something, to help, but I know I’d only get in the way.

Albrecht lands a heavy punch to Lucas’s ribs, and I see the brief flash of pain cross Lucas’s face, making my stomach twist with fear. But he doesn’t let it slow him down. He counters with a brutal knee to Albrecht’s midsection, forcing the air from his lungs with a wheezing gasp.

Albrecht, still fighting for breath, tries to gain the upper hand, his hands clawing at Lucas’s throat, but Lucas slams him against the wall with bone-crunching force.

Albrecht’s head snaps back, and for a moment, I think he’s going to go down, but then he grabs a broken chair leg from the floor, swinging it at Lucas with all the strength he has left.

Lucas dodges the swing, the jagged wood barely missing his face, and grabs Albrecht by the collar, pulling him close enough that their faces are inches apart. I can see the fire in Lucas’s eyes, the cold, unrelenting determination that makes my breath catch in my throat.

This isn’t just about survival—this is about protecting what’s his. About protecting me.

“You killed my parents,” Lucas growls, his voice low and deadly, each word dripping with venom. “You kidnapped my wife. You will pay for your crimes, you son of a bitch.”

With a final, brutal move, Lucas drives his fist into Albrecht’s chest, sending him crashing to the floor. Albrecht wheezes, trying to crawl away, his body broken and beaten, but Lucas doesn’t give him the chance. He grabs the gun from his holster, pointing it directly at Albrecht’s head.

The room goes still, the tension so thick it’s suffocating. Albrecht looks up at Lucas, his eyes wide with fear, the reality of his situation finally sinking in. But there’s no mercy in Lucas’s gaze, no hesitation.

“Going to tell me to let him live?” he asks, glancing my way. “Want to avoid any more bloodshed?”

I shake my head. “Kill him.”

“My wife says you die,” Lucas says to Albrecht, his voice emotionless. “Who am I to disagree?”

42

EMILY

The gunshot rings out, echoing through the room like a thunderclap. Albrecht’s body slumps to the floor, lifeless, and for a moment, everything is silent. The only sound is the rush of blood in my ears, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Lucas stands over Albrecht’s body, his chest heaving, the gun still clutched tightly in his hand. He’s bloodied, bruised, but alive. And as he turns to face me, his eyes soften, the hard edges of his expression fading away as he sees me standing there, safe.

The room is eerily quiet after the gunshot, the echoes of the brutal fight still hanging in the air. My whole body feels like it’s trembling, the adrenaline slowly fading, leaving me weak and lightheaded.

But none of that matters. All I can see is Lucas—alive, standing there, covered in blood but very much alive.

He turns toward me, and for a moment, the fierce, dangerous man who just took down Albrecht melts away. In his place is the Lucas I’ve come to know, the one who saved me, the one who somehow, against all odds, became everything to me.

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough, tinged with a vulnerability I’ve never heard from him before. He reaches out, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

But I don’t. I can’t. I close the distance between us in a heartbeat, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. The smell of sweat, blood, and gunpowder is strong, but underneath it, I catch the familiar scent of him, the one that has always made me feel safe.

“I am now,” I whisper, my voice shaky with relief. “I knew you’d come for me.”

He holds me tightly, his arms wrapping around me like a shield, as if he’s afraid to let go. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, can feel the tension still coiled in his muscles, but as he presses a kiss to the top of my head, some of that tension begins to melt away.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve been here sooner.”

I pull back just enough to look up at him, my hand cupping his cheek. His eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of regret and relief, but beneath it all, there’s something softer, something more vulnerable.

“You came for me,” I say, the words coming out more firmly this time. “That’s all that matters.”

He gazes down at me, his expression unreadable for a moment, and then, as if making a decision, he reaches into his pocket. When he pulls out a delicate silver chain, my breath catches in my throat. It’s my mother’s necklace—the one that was stolen, the one I thought I’d never see again.

“I think this belongs to you,” Lucas says. There’s a rawness in his eyes, a depth of emotion that takes my breath away.

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