Page 63 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

“Who made you boss?” he asks.

“She’s my queen,” Lucas says. “She speaks with my approval.”

There’s a moment of silence, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Peter’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s trying to figure me out, but then something shifts in his expression—a flicker of respect.

“You’re bold to invite me here,” he says, his tone measured. “You killed my boss.”

Jake, who has been standing quietly by Lucas’s side, steps forward. “Let’s settle this the way we used to,” he suggests, setting the chess pieces out on the board between them. “The way our fathers taught us.”

Peter’s gaze softens slightly as he looks at the board, and I can see the memories playing out in his mind.

The two men sit down, and the game begins. “Albrecht killed Lucas’s parents,” Jake says as they play. “Tried to kill Lucas many times, kidnapped his wife. He had to die, surely you know that.”

“He was my employer,” Peter replies.

“He’s gone. Honor yourself and your name. Join us.”

The room falls silent except for the soft click of the chess pieces as they move across the board. I stand by Lucas’s side, his arm around my waist, a silent show of support. This isn’t just about the game—it’s about trust, about finding a way to move forward without more bloodshed.

As the game progresses, I can see the tension in the room begin to ease, the animosity that once defined their relationship giving way to something else—something closer to respect. When Peter wins the game, there’s a moment of tense silence before he extends his hand to Jake.

“You play better than you used to,” he says, his voice firm but calm. “I’m too old to keep fighting. It’s time for a new era.”

Jake and Peter shake hands, the tension that has hung over this meeting finally dissipating. The two men begin to chat about the past, reminiscing about old times, and for the first time, I see the possibility of real peace.

Lucas pulls me closer, his voice soft in my ear. “You did well. I’m so proud of you.”

My husband and I step out onto the balcony, the cool evening air a welcome relief after the intensity of the showdown. The city sprawls out before us, the lights twinkling like stars, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I breathe easily, the weight of our uncertain future lifted from my shoulders.

47

EMILY

We sit together on one of the plush outdoor couches, the soft cushions molding to our bodies as we relax into the moment. Lucas pulls me close, his arm draped around my shoulders, and I lean into him, savoring the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

There’s a contentment between us now, a quiet understanding that we’ve weathered the storm and come out stronger on the other side.

“We’ve come a long way,” Lucas says, his voice filled with quiet reflection. “You handled yourself with such grace in there. You’re not just part of my world—you’re the best part of it.”

His words make my heart swell, and I tilt my head up to look at him, a smile tugging at my lips. “To think we started with me talking about turning your shit black.”

“That’s when I knew you were the one. No one else at the party would have dared talk to me like that.”

“You know,” I say, my voice light as I tilt my head to look at him, “I’ve been thinking a lot about names.”

He turns his head, his lips curling into a lazy smile. “Oh? You mean you’re finally going to stop vetoing all of mine?” His eyes glint with amusement, that familiar teasing edge that never fails to make me smile.

I roll my eyes, nudging him playfully with my elbow. “Hey, I didn’t veto all of them. Just… most of them. For good reason, too. I’m still not convinced ‘Agatha’ is making a comeback.”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that seems to blend with the rustling leaves. “Agatha’s got a strong, classic vibe. But fine, we’ll cross it off the list.”

His fingers tap lightly against my stomach, a soft rhythm that seems to match the gentle beat of our conversation. “What about something simple, like ‘Grace’?”

“Grace,” I repeat, letting the name roll off my tongue. “I like it. It’s elegant. But I was thinking something more unique—something with a bit of character.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression mock-serious. “Unique, huh? So… ‘Bluebell’ is still in the running, then?”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep inside me. “Only if we want her to sound like a cow.”

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