Page 49 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

He rushes at me, desperation fueling his attack. I sidestep him easily, grabbing an ancient, rusted chain from the floor—something that might have once held a velvet rope, now forgotten and discarded.

As he stumbles past me, I swing the chain, wrapping it around his wrist and pulling hard. The knife slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor, and I yank him back toward me, driving my fist into his gut.

He doubles over, gasping for breath, but I don’t give him time to recover. I tighten the chain around his neck, pulling him close until his face is inches from mine. “Should have brought more men,” I say.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond. I twist the chain, cutting off his air, and with one last struggle, he collapses at my feet.

The museum is silent again, the only sound my heavy breathing as I look around at the bodies scattered across the floor. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins, the cold edge of survival sharp and clear in my mind.

A phone buzzes in the pocket of one of the dead men. I bend down, pulling it out, the screen lighting up with a single name: Albrecht. My lips curl into a grim smile as I answer the call, holding the phone to my ear.

“Tell me it’s done,” he says down the line.

“Better luck next time,” I say coldly, my voice echoing through the empty hall. “You’re a fucking dead man.” Then I hang up, dropping the phone onto the body of its owner.

The fight is over, but I know this isn’t the end. Albrecht’s just getting started, and so am I. But tonight, I’ve sent a message—a message written in blood.

I step over the bodies, heading for the exit. The night air hits me as I push open the heavy doors, the weight of the fight still clinging to me. But there’s no time to dwell on it, no time to rest.

I need to get back to Emily. To feel sane again. And to work out what the hell to do next. I think back to the original plan. Could I use her as bait to bring him out into the open?

35

LUCAS

I’m outside two seconds before I hear footsteps approaching, steady and familiar, and I don’t need to look up to know it’s Jake. As he comes closer, the soft glow of the streetlight catches the silver in his hair, adding to the air of quiet authority he carries with him. “How did it go?” he asks.

“Peter wasn’t there.”

His eyes flick to my hand, where I’m still flexing the knuckles, stained with drying blood. “Who was?”

I glance at him, my expression unreadable. “I just killed four men. Thought you said Peter was honorable.”

“Men change, I guess.” He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even bat an eye. He’s seen this side of me too many times to be shocked anymore. Instead, he nods slowly, his gaze drifting to the dilapidated museum behind us. “Albrecht’s getting desperate.”

I let out a bitter chuckle, the sound harsh in the stillness of the night. “Desperate enough to think he could corner me. Trap me like some common prey.”

“But he didn’t,” Jake says, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re here, they’re not.”

“Because I made sure of it,” I snap, the anger I’ve been holding back boiling to the surface. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, to think clearly. “This has to end, Jake. We take him on fully—start a war. We don’t stop until his entire empire is burned to the ground.”

Jake watches me carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure about that? Once we start, there’s no going back.”

“I’m sure,” I say, my voice cold, resolute. “He killed my parents, Jake. He must die. Enough of this bullshit.”

There’s a long silence between us, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Jake doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to talk me out of it. He knows better than anyone that this isn’t just about revenge—it’s about justice. About finally ending the cycle of violence that Albrecht has perpetuated for too long.

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small object, glinting faintly in the dim light. “Before you go home,” he says, holding it out to me, “I thought you might want this. Brought it to me just now.”

I take it from him, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what it is. Emily’s mother’s necklace, the one that was stolen. The one thing that meant more to her than anything else. The cool metal feels heavy in my palm, a reminder of what I’m fighting for—what I’m protecting.

“We got it back from the thief,” Jake explains, his tone steady. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”

I nod, slipping the necklace into my pocket, feeling its weight against my chest. “I need to get home. Emily deserves this back.”

“Take care of her,” Jake says, his voice carrying a note of something deeper, something almost fatherly. “She’s the one good thing in all of this.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice rough with emotion. “And I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Not ever.”

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