Page 30 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

Emily.

Even here, with blood on my hands and the stench of fear thick in the air, she’s in my mind, pulling at the edges of my thoughts, demanding my attention.

I try to push her away, to focus on the task at hand, but it’s no use. She’s there, in every corner of my mind, a presence I can’t escape.

It’s unsettling, this obsession that’s beginning to take root. I’m not a man who gets attached, not like this. But with her, it’s different. It’s like I’m drawn to her, pulled in by something I don’t fully understand.

Jake stands off to the side, arms crossed as he watches me work. He knows me well enough to sense when something’s off, but he’s smart enough not to mention it. Still, I can feel his eyes on me, assessing, waiting for the moment when I snap back to my usual self. But the truth is, I’m not sure I can.

I grab the man by the hair, jerking his head up so he’s forced to look at me. His eyes widen in terror, the realization of his fate dawning on him as he struggles against the ropes binding him to the chair.

I should be enjoying this, the power I hold over him, the fear radiating off him in waves. But all I can think about is Emily—how she looked at me when I left the penthouse, the way her lips trembled when she tried to speak, the flash of defiance in her eyes when I told her she’d never leave me.

“You made a mistake,” I say coldly, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Coming after my wife. Did you really think you could get away with it?”

The man whimpers, trying to shake his head, but I tighten my grip on his hair, forcing him to stay still. His mouth moves behind the gag, desperate, pleading, but I’m not interested in his excuses.

I’ve heard it all before—the same pathetic begging, the empty promises, the lies. They all end the same way, with blood on the floor and another problem solved. But this time, it feels different. This time, it’s personal.

Because of Emily.

I can feel the anger simmering just below the surface, threatening to boil over. The thought of her in danger, of anyone even thinking about touching her, makes my blood run hot.

I’ve never cared like this before, never let myself get this close to anyone. But with Emily, I can’t help it. She’s in my head, in my blood, and the more I try to push her away, the deeper she sinks in.

“Who sent you after her?” I demand, my voice low, dangerous. The man’s eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

He knows he’s trapped, knows that no matter what he says, this ends with him bleeding out on the floor. But I need to hear it from him—I need to know who dared to come after her. “Give me a name.”

I yank the gag from his mouth, and he gasps, sucking in a breath like a man drowning. “It was Albrecht,” he chokes out, the words tumbling over each other in his desperation. “He sent me. Said… said if I got the girl, he’d… he’d clear my debts. Give me a key of coke into the bargain.”

The rage surges, hot and blinding, but I force myself to stay calm, to keep control. Albrecht. Of course it was him. The bastard’s been nipping at my heels forever, trying to find any weakness he can exploit. And now, I have proof he’s targeting Emily.

My Emily.

The thought sends a wave of possessiveness crashing through me, so strong I have to grit my teeth to keep from losing it. I shouldn’t feel this way—I know it.

She’s just a means to an end, a way to secure my legacy. But every time I think about her, every time I remember the way she looked at me, the way she trembled under my touch, it becomes harder to convince myself of that lie.

“She’s mine,” I say, more to myself than to the man in front of me. But he hears it, and the fear in his eyes deepens, realizing that whatever slim chance he had at mercy just disappeared.

“Please,” he begs, his voice trembling. “I’ll do anything. Just… just don’t kill me. I’ll… I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll help you take down Albrecht. Just let me live.”

I release his hair, watching as his head slumps forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I could end this now, walk away, let Jake finish the job.

But the thought of Emily back at the penthouse, vulnerable, alone, gnaws at me. I need to deal with this, need to make sure she’s safe before I can even think about anything else.

I grab his neck and whip it to one side, listening for the pop of his spine. His body slumps forward, his eyes glazing over.

I glance over at Jake, who’s been silent the entire time, waiting for my command. “Deal with him,” I say, my voice cold, detached.

As I step out into the hallway, the door closing behind me. But the satisfaction I usually feel in moments like this is absent, replaced by a gnawing need to see Emily, to make sure she’s still there, still safe.

I pull out my phone, dialing the head of my security team. “Make sure the penthouse is locked down,” I say as soon as he answers. “No one in or out without my permission. And keep a close eye on her. She doesn’t leave unless I say so.”

He assures me it will be done, but I know it’s not enough. Not for me. I need to be there, need to see her, touch her, remind myself that she’s mine and that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even if it means locking her away from the world.

Even if it means becoming the monster she already thinks I am.

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