Page 6 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

She hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. She’s weighing her options, trying to decide if she should stay or if she should make a run for it. I could make the decision for her, but something tells me that giving her a choice will make this all the more interesting.

“Why me?” she asks, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I smile, a slow, deliberate curve of my lips. “Because you’re different,” I say, my tone softening just enough to let her know I mean it. “And because I think you could use a little distraction tonight.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my words, and I can see the conflict in her expression. She wants to leave—wants to run back to whatever safe, familiar place she calls home—but she’s drawn to me, just as I’m drawn to her. It’s a tug-of-war I’m more than willing to play, for now.

She bites her lip, the hesitation still there, but I can see the moment she decides. With a small nod, she steps closer, her body language shifting from wary to resigned. “I can’t dance,” she says softly. “No rhythm.”

I don’t bother hiding my satisfaction. I offer her my hand, and when she takes it, I pull her gently back into the room, away from the door and the thoughts of leaving.

“Just lean against me,” I say. The music is slow, a sultry melody that suits the mood perfectly. I guide her to the center of the dance floor, the other guests watching us with a mixture of curiosity and envy.

As I place my hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer, I can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she’s trying to keep herself from relaxing into my hold.

But as we begin to move, that tension starts to melt away, replaced by something else—something more primal, more instinctive. She’s letting go, if only just a little, and that’s all I need.

We move in sync, our bodies swaying together. Her eyes find mine, and there’s something in them I can’t quite place—something raw and unguarded.

It’s a look I haven’t seen in years, not from anyone in my world. It’s the kind of look that makes me want to protect her, even as I know that I would easily destroy her.

The thought is intoxicating, and I have to remind myself to stay in control. She’s not like the others, and if I push too hard, she’ll break. And yet, a part of me is curious—how far can I take this before she pulls away?

As the song comes to an end, I don’t release her immediately. Instead, I hold her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, the steady beat of her heart matching my own.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way—this alive, this connected to another person. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a very, very dangerous one.

She looks up at me, her expression softening, and for a moment, I think she might say something. But before she can, the spell is broken.

The crowd around us starts to move again, the noise of the party returning in full force. She blinks, the moment shattered, and steps back, creating a small but noticeable distance between us.

“I really need to go,” she says, her voice wavering slightly, as if she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

I study her for a moment, weighing my next move. She’s on the edge, teetering between staying and fleeing, and I could easily tip her in either direction.

But there’s something about the way she looks at me, something vulnerable and unspoken, that makes me decide for her.

I take hold of her again, shaking my head. “You’re going nowhere.”

4

EMILY

Ifind myself in the middle of the dance floor again, surrounded by strangers in glittering gowns and sharp suits. I’m not sure how I ended up back here with Lucas.

He seems to have claimed me for the evening with nothing more than a glance and a few well-placed words.

The lights dim, casting a warm, intimate glow over the room. The chandeliers overhead sparkle like stars, but I can’t seem to focus on anything except the man in front of me. Lucas Caprione.

Tall, mature, and impossibly handsome, with an air of mystery that draws me in despite myself. Just enough wrinkles and gray hair to make me melt with desire.

He steps closer, his presence commanding yet oddly comforting. I’m acutely aware of the way my heart races in my chest, my pulse quickening in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. He’s watching me with those piercing blue eyes.

“I said I can’t dance,” I blurt out as he begins to move, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. I feel a flush creep up my neck, embarrassed by my own honesty. “I mean, not like these people. Please, don’t make me dance again.”

Lucas doesn’t laugh or brush off my insecurities like I half-expect him to. Instead, he looks at me with a seriousness that catches me off guard.

He leads me off the dance floor, away from the crowd, toward a darker, quieter corner of the room. The noise of the party fades into the background as we step into the shadows, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden hues across his face.

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