Page 37 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

The air is crisp as we step out of the museum, the city’s usual noise and chaos replaced by an almost eerie stillness.

For a brief moment, everything feels right—like maybe Lucas and I have turned a corner, found some kind of understanding in the middle of all this madness.

I glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it’s back to the usual cool mask he wears so well. Still, there’s a tension in his posture, a subtle shift that makes me think he’s not as relaxed as he wants to appear.

I’m about to ask him what’s on his mind when I notice a figure moving toward us from the shadows near the entrance. At first, I think it’s just someone passing by, but as the man gets closer, I realize there’s something off about him.

His gait is unsteady, and there’s a look in his eyes that sets off alarms in my head—wild, angry, and focused directly on us.

Lucas steps in front of me without hesitation, his body tense, shielding me from the approaching man. My heart rate spikes, the calm of the evening shattered by the sudden sense of danger. The guards run forward but he waves them back, like he knows the man is no real threat.

The man stops a few feet away, swaying slightly on his feet. His clothes are disheveled, his hair a tangled mess, and there’s a sneer on his bruised face that makes my skin crawl. He looks at Lucas, then at me, and his sneer turns into something uglier, something filled with hate.

“Greg?” I say, staring at the figure closely. “Is that you?”

“Look at you,” he slurs, his voice dripping with venom. “The great Lucas Caprione, thinking you can hide behind your money and your power. But you can’t hide from what’s coming.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch. He’s stone-cold, his gaze locked on Greg, assessing, calculating. I can feel the shift in him, the way he’s readying himself for whatever might happen next.

Greg’s eyes flicker to me, and the sneer deepens. “And you,” he spits, his voice full of contempt. “Carrying his bastard, thinking you’re safe. You’re not. None of you are. That kid—” he jabs a finger in my direction, “—will never be safe. You think you can protect it? You’re dead wrong.”

Fear grips me, cold and unrelenting. I can’t breathe, can’t move, every word he says slamming into me like a punch. The way he speaks about our child is enough to make my blood run cold. “How do you know about the baby?” I ask fearfully.

“Medical records can be bought for the right amount,” he replies. “And Albrecht pays well. Especially to those of us fucked over by the great Lucas Caprione.”

“Did he send you?” Lucas asks in an emotionless voice. “Or are you that stupid you came to get yourself killed?”

“I’m not scared of you. Kill me and you spark a war. I’m part of Albrecht’s family. You can’t touch me. And when you’re dead, I’ll piss on your grave.”

Lucas doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes is enough to silence any further insults from Greg, and for a moment, the street is deathly quiet, the tension between the two of them crackling like electricity in the air.

I’m still trying to process what’s happening, the fear for our child gnawing at my insides, when Lucas reaches into his jacket. “Please,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Don’t do it.”

He turns to me. “What?”

“For me, please. Don’t kill him.”

Lucas looks like he’s about to say something but then he turns to Greg. “Fuck off and tell your pussy of a boss that I’m coming for him.”

“You pussywhipped already?”

Lucas picks Greg up by the neck without a word, tossing him away down the street. “Escort him far,” he says to his guards.”

They disappear, dragging him into the shadows as quickly as he appeared, leaving behind a heavy silence that hangs in the air long after he’s gone.

I can’t shake the feeling of dread that has settled in the pit of my stomach. It’s one thing to know that Lucas’s world is dangerous, to hear about the threats and the violence from a distance.

But to have it thrust in front of me, to see the hatred and the danger up close, is something else entirely. The reality of it hits me like a wave, and I have to force myself to breathe, to stay calm.

“He deserved to die,” Lucas says. “You let him live. Why?”

“I’ve had a perfect day. Why spoil it with bloodshed.”

“So he lives because you don’t want your day spoiled?”

I don’t know what to say to that so I say nothing. I shouldn’t have to justify not murdering someone but in this upside down world, I feel like the one in the wrong.

As we walk back to the car, the tension between us is palpable. The warmth of the day, the connection we started to build, has been shattered by the reality of Lucas’s world.

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