Page 11 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

I turn over in bed, expecting to find Emily there, but all I see are the rumpled sheets, the imprint of her body still visible on the mattress.

For a moment, I just stare at the empty spot where she should be, a strange, hollow feeling settling in my chest. I’m not used to this—being the one left behind. It’s always been the other way around.

I’m the one who slips away before dawn, leaving behind nothing but a fleeting memory. It’s easier that way. No complications, no attachments. But now, with Emily gone, it feels… different. It feels personal.

How did she leave without me noticing?

My eyes catch sight of a small piece of paper on the pillow beside me. I reach for it, my fingers brushing the cool fabric before picking it up. The note is simple, almost too casual: “Thank you for helping me forget. X”

I read the words over and over, as if somehow they’ll change, but they don’t. She didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t leave any trace of herself behind except for this.

And yet, as I read the note again, I can’t help the small, bitter smile that tugs at my lips. She thanked me. As if what happened last night was just a favor, a passing kindness.

But I know it was more than that. At least, it was for me. There was something there, something I’ve never felt before.

The thought irritates me, so I shove it aside, trying to push down the emotions that have no place in my life. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of keeping people at a distance, of making sure no one ever gets close enough to see what’s really inside me—because there’s nothing there.

I’m dead inside, a hollow shell that’s been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s safer that way, easier to control.

But Emily… she’s different. She walked away from me, willingly, before I even had the chance to push her away. That stings more than I want to admit, more than I’m willing to let myself feel.

Frustrated, I toss the note aside and get out of bed. I can’t afford to think about her right now. I have other things to focus on, other problems to solve. But I can’t get her out of my mind.

I reach for my phone and dial Jake’s number. He answers on the second ring, his voice gruff and alert, as always. “Morning, boss.”

“I need you to find someone,” I say, my voice clipped. “And deal with him.”

“Who?”

“Last night. Emily Davis, her place got turned over. Find the son of a bitch who did this and get back the necklace he took. Then kill him.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a slight hesitation that I’m not used to hearing from Jake. “Are you sure you want to get this involved with a civilian?”

“Yes,” I reply, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Just do it.”

“Understood,” Jake says, and I can hear the faint sound of him typing something in the background. “Anything else?”

“Find out everything you can about the firm she worked for,” I add, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “Unit Seventeen. I want to know who runs the place, what they do, employee names, everything.”

“I’m on it,” Jake says. “I’ll get back to you.”

I set the phone down, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I’m doing this for the wrong reasons. I tell myself it’s just about control, about keeping the situation in check, but deep down, I know there’s more to it than that.

I want to help her. I want to protect her. But I know I can’t—because she’s too good for my world, too good for me. Far too young and innocent.

I shake off the thoughts and head out to the balcony, the cool morning breeze washing over me as I look out at Central Park. The city is awake now, the streets below bustling with life.

I need to clear my head.

I leave the penthouse and take the elevator down to the street, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The sky is a pale shade of blue, the kind that signals the beginning of a new day, and the park is already filled with joggers, dog walkers, and the occasional cyclist.

It’s a world that feels both familiar and foreign to me—a place where people come to escape, to find peace in the chaos of the city. But I’m not looking for peace. I’m looking for a distraction.

I start running, my feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, each step driving me forward. I push myself hard, faster than usual, trying to outrun the thoughts that keep swirling in my head. But no matter how fast I go, I can’t escape them.

Emily. Her name echoes in my mind, a constant reminder of the night we spent together, of the way she made me feel something I haven’t felt in years. Forget, she said.

She forgot her life while she was with me. The irony isn’t lost on me—me, the man who’s built his life on control, power, and fear, making someone feel safe. It’s almost laughable.

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