Page 3 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

I take a sip, the liquid burning a path down my throat, and for the first time all night, the knot in my chest loosens just a little.

I lean against the bar, letting the noise and the warmth wash over me, trying to forget everything that’s happened.

I close my eyes, losing myself in the moment, the world around me blurring into a comforting haze.

When I open them again, I notice him.

It’s a thunderbolt. An instant when my entire world changes. There was before. And now there will be after. Because of him.

A stranger, standing at the far end of the bar, tall and imposing, ten, maybe twenty years older than me, with an air of quiet confidence that seems to draw people in without him even trying.

He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the dark fabric hugging his broad shoulders and long frame.

His hair is neatly styled, dark as the night outside, but it’s his eyes that catch me off guard—piercing blue, almost unnervingly so.

And they’re staring directly at me.

My breath catches in my throat, and I look away quickly, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. But I can still feel his gaze on me, as if it’s pulling me toward him, despite the voice in my head telling me to turn around and leave.

I take another sip of my drink, trying to steady myself, but it does little to calm the sudden rush of nerves. I feel naked before that stare. I make myself look away.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself glancing back at him again. He hasn’t moved, but now there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, like he knows something I don’t.

He stares at me, marching over an instant later.

“Lost?” he asks, his voice smooth and deep, with just a trace of amusement.

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “In more ways than one.”

He studies me for a moment, and I get the sense that he’s not just looking at me, but into me—like he can see all the things I try to hide from the world.

It’s unsettling, but also strangely comforting, like he understands me in a way that no one else does.

“Lucas,” someone shouts. “Come meet the senator.”

The man in front of me waves the approaching figures away, fixing his eyes on me. “Something’s upset you,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “What is it?”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s no hiding the truth. “I guess I’m having one of those days. Got any drugs? Or a barn you could take me behind with a shotgun? Tell the kids I went off to live on a farm?”

“Not on me. Could dose you up with pepto bismol. I hear it’s soporific after the first couple of pints.”

“Doesn’t that make your shit turn black?” I freeze, wincing as I realize what I just said. “Sorry. Way too much information.”

A smile flickers on his lips. “What’s your name?” His voice has turned low and intimate, like we’re the only two people in the room.

“Emily,” I say. “Emily Davis.”

“Lucas,” he replies, holding out his hand. “Lucas Caprione.”

I take his hand, and the moment our skin touches, a jolt of something passes between us. His grip is firm, his hand warm, and for a brief second, the world around us seems to fade away. It’s just the two of us, standing here in the middle of this glittering party, and nothing else matters.

“You feel that?” he asks.

I swallow hard, unable to answer.

We stand like this for a moment, neither of us letting go, the silence between us growing heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name.

Then, before I can fully process what’s happening, he steps closer, his hand still holding mine, his eyes darkening with a look that sends a shiver down my spine.

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