Page 31 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

Jake emerges from the room, wiping his hands clean with a handkerchief. “Crew are on their way,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he’s just taken out the trash. And to him, that’s exactly what he’s done.

21

LUCAS

We move back into the main area of The Lounge. The shift in atmosphere is immediate—the dim, foreboding energy of the back room replaced by the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of jazz playing in the background.

The patrons here are oblivious to the violence that just took place a few doors away, and that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

We move through the lounge like we belong—because we do. The men and women seated in the plush leather chairs, swirling expensive drinks and discussing deals that could make or break fortunes, glance our way with a mix of respect and wariness.

They know who I am, who we are. They know what happens to those who cross me.

But none of that matters right now. My mind is still on Emily, back at the penthouse, locked away for her own protection. The thought of her there, alone, makes my chest tighten with an emotion I’m not used to feeling—worry. I hate that she’s become a weakness, a vulnerability I can’t afford. But more than that, I hate that I care.

Jake walks beside me, his presence a steadying force, but I can sense he’s watching me closely, waiting for a cue, a sign of what’s to come. He knows me too well to miss the fact that something’s different, that Emily has shaken something loose in me that I’ve kept buried for a long time.

As we reach the exit, the doorman nods respectfully and opens the door for us. The cold night air hits me as we step outside, the noise of the city rushing in to fill the space left by the lounge’s muted opulence.

The streets of Manhattan are alive, bustling with the energy of a city that never sleeps, but all I can think about is the penthouse, and the woman inside it.

Jake breaks the silence as we walk toward the waiting car. “Albrecht won’t stop,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “You know that, right? He’s going to keep coming, keep pushing until one of you is dead.”

I nod, sliding into the backseat of the sleek black car. “I know. That’s why we need to hit him hard, cut him off at the knees before he can make another move.”

Jake gets in beside me, closing the door with a soft thud. The driver pulls away from the curb. “You’ve always been ruthless, Lucas,” he continues, his voice low, thoughtful. “It’s what’s kept you on top. Why not use her to bring him out?”

I stiffen at his words, my jaw tightening as I stare out the window. He’s right, and we both know it. Emily has gotten under my skin in a way that no one ever has before, and it’s making me question everything—my decisions, my instincts, my own goddamn sanity.

I can feel her pulling me in, making me want things I’ve never allowed myself to want. A family, a future, something beyond the violence and power that’s defined my life for so long.

“She’s mine,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods, accepting my resolve. “So, what’s the plan? How do we take Albrecht down without putting her in the crossfire?”

“We need to be smart about this,” I say, turning to face him. “We can’t just go in guns blazing. Albrecht’s expecting that. We need to dismantle his operations piece by piece, cut off his supply lines, hit his allies where it hurts. By the time he realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late.”

He nods, already thinking ahead, strategizing. “And Emily? How do you plan to keep her out of it?”

“She stays at the penthouse,” I reply, my voice firm. “I’ve already tightened security. She won’t leave without my permission, and no one gets in unless I say so. She’ll be safe there.”

But even as I say the words, a part of me knows it’s not enough. Emily isn’t the type to stay locked away, hidden from the world.

She’s strong, determined, and if she ever finds out what I’ve done—what I’m doing—she won’t forgive me. She’ll fight back, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face that.

22

EMILY

Istare out the massive windows of the penthouse, my eyes tracing the skyline of Manhattan. The city sprawls beneath me, vibrant and alive. But from up here, I might as well be staring at a painting—a beautiful, frustrating illusion of freedom.

I let out a sigh, turning away from the view. The penthouse is gorgeous, there’s no denying that. Everything is sleek, modern, dripping in luxury. Marble floors, plush furniture, artwork that probably costs more than I’ve ever made in my life.

And then there’s the closet—oh, the closet. It’s filled with designer clothes in every imaginable style, all in my size, as if Lucas knew exactly what I’d want.

Dresses, shoes, bags… more than I could ever need. There’s a credit card too, just sitting there with no limit, waiting for me to use it on whatever my heart desires.

But none of it matters. Not really. Because no matter how many beautiful things Lucas surrounds me with, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m trapped here, locked away like some kind of expensive pet.

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