Page 39 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

He shakes his head. “I promised not to kill him. I kept that promise.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications I’m not sure I’m ready to face. I should be terrified—Lucas is admitting to cold-blooded murder, to the lengths he’ll go to protect me, to keep control.

And yet… there’s a part of me that isn’t scared. A part of me that feels a twisted sense of relief, of safety in the knowledge that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe.

I don’t know what that says about me, or about us, but I know this: Lucas is a man who won’t let anything stand in his way. And while that should terrify me, it also makes me feel… protected.

I should be horrified. I should be running as far away from him as I can. But instead, I’m staring at him, feeling… what? Grateful? Relieved?

“I should be scared of you,” I admit. “I should be running as far away from you as I can.”

He leans forward slightly, his eyes locked onto mine. “But you’re not,” he says softly, as if he can see right through me, as if he knows exactly what I’m feeling.

I swallow hard, trying to find the right words, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. “No, I’m not,” I confess, the truth of it settling like a stone in my chest. “And I don’t know what that says about me.”

Lucas watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “It says you understand,” he finally says. “You understand that this is the world we live in now. It’s not pretty, and it’s not easy, but it’s the reality. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe in it.”

His words linger in the air, and I can feel the weight of them, the finality. There’s no going back from this, no pretending that things are different.

This is who he is, who he has to be in order to survive in the world he’s created. And by staying with him, by accepting his protection, I’m stepping into that world too.

“I don’t know if I can live like this,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “Constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s going to come after us next.”

Lucas’s expression softens just a fraction, and for a moment, I see the man I caught a glimpse of earlier tonight—the one who took me to the museum, who showed me a side of himself I didn’t expect.

“You won’t have to,” he says, his tone gentler now. “I’ll take care of it. You don’t need to worry about who’s coming after us. That’s my job.”

It should sound like an empty promise, but it doesn’t. There’s something in the way he says it, in the way he looks at me, that makes me believe him.

It’s not just about control for Lucas—it’s about something more, something deeper. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he’s watching me now, waiting for me to understand.

And I do. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.

“I don’t want to live in fear,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “Not as long as I’m here.”

27

LUCAS

The phone feels heavy in my hand as I listen to the voice on the other end, droning on about numbers and projections. It’s the kind of conversation I’ve had a thousand times before, one that usually demands my full attention.

But tonight, the words barely register. My mind is somewhere else—stuck on the events of last night, replaying the moment that man’s life ended, all because he made the mistake of threatening Emily.

“Mr. Caprione, are you there?” The voice on the phone pulls me back to the present, sharp and impatient.

I recognize the tone—someone who thinks their deal is the most important thing in the world, someone who doesn’t understand that the real weight of power isn’t in the numbers on a spreadsheet, but in the decisions that keep people alive or put them in the ground.

“I’m here,” I reply, my voice steady, controlled. “Continue.”

But as he talks, I find my thoughts drifting again, back to that moment when I gave the order. Greg never saw it coming—a hit and run, clean and simple.

It should have been just another task, another piece of business handled. But the image of him lying there, the life draining from his body, keeps flashing in my mind, stubborn and unwelcome.

I lean back in my chair, staring out at the city spread beneath me, glittering and vast. This city is mine, built on the fear and respect I’ve commanded for years. But tonight, it feels hollow, like the lights are mocking me, reminding me that power comes at a price.

Two of my men dead today in retaliation. Good men. Family men. My fists clench as I think of their widows. Albrecht needs dealing with and fast. But how? He keeps himself locked away. How do I get close enough to end him?

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