26. Emily
26
EMILY
T he air is crisp as we step out of the museum, the city’s usual noise and chaos replaced by an almost eerie stillness.
For a brief moment, everything feels right—like maybe Lucas and I have turned a corner, found some kind of understanding in the middle of all this madness.
I glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it’s back to the usual cool mask he wears so well. Still, there’s a tension in his posture, a subtle shift that makes me think he’s not as relaxed as he wants to appear.
I’m about to ask him what’s on his mind when I notice a figure moving toward us from the shadows near the entrance. At first, I think it’s just someone passing by, but as the man gets closer, I realize there’s something off about him.
His gait is unsteady, and there’s a look in his eyes that sets off alarms in my head—wild, angry, and focused directly on us.
Lucas steps in front of me without hesitation, his body tense, shielding me from the approaching man. My heart rate spikes, the calm of the evening shattered by the sudden sense of danger. The guards run forward but he waves them back, like he knows the man is no real threat.
The man stops a few feet away, swaying slightly on his feet. His clothes are disheveled, his hair a tangled mess, and there’s a sneer on his bruised face that makes my skin crawl. He looks at Lucas, then at me, and his sneer turns into something uglier, something filled with hate.
“Greg?” I say, staring at the figure closely. “Is that you?”
“Look at you,” he slurs, his voice dripping with venom. “The great Lucas Caprione, thinking you can hide behind your money and your power. But you can’t hide from what’s coming.”
Lucas doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch. He’s stone-cold, his gaze locked on Greg, assessing, calculating. I can feel the shift in him, the way he’s readying himself for whatever might happen next.
Greg’s eyes flicker to me, and the sneer deepens. “And you,” he spits, his voice full of contempt. “Carrying his bastard, thinking you’re safe. You’re not. None of you are. That kid—” he jabs a finger in my direction, “—will never be safe. You think you can protect it? You’re dead wrong.”
Fear grips me, cold and unrelenting. I can’t breathe, can’t move, every word he says slamming into me like a punch. The way he speaks about our child is enough to make my blood run cold. “How do you know about the baby?” I ask fearfully.
“Medical records can be bought for the right amount,” he replies. “And Albrecht pays well. Especially to those of us fucked over by the great Lucas Caprione.”
“Did he send you?” Lucas asks in an emotionless voice. “Or are you that stupid you came to get yourself killed?”
“I’m not scared of you. Kill me and you spark a war. I’m part of Albrecht’s family. You can’t touch me. And when you’re dead, I’ll piss on your grave.”
Lucas doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes is enough to silence any further insults from Greg, and for a moment, the street is deathly quiet, the tension between the two of them crackling like electricity in the air.
I’m still trying to process what’s happening, the fear for our child gnawing at my insides, when Lucas reaches into his jacket. “Please,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Don’t do it.”
He turns to me. “What?”
“For me, please. Don’t kill him.”
Lucas looks like he’s about to say something but then he turns to Greg. “Fuck off and tell your pussy of a boss that I’m coming for him.”
“You pussywhipped already?”
Lucas picks Greg up by the neck without a word, tossing him away down the street. “Escort him far,” he says to his guards.”
They disappear, dragging him into the shadows as quickly as he appeared, leaving behind a heavy silence that hangs in the air long after he’s gone.
I can’t shake the feeling of dread that has settled in the pit of my stomach. It’s one thing to know that Lucas’s world is dangerous, to hear about the threats and the violence from a distance.
But to have it thrust in front of me, to see the hatred and the danger up close, is something else entirely. The reality of it hits me like a wave, and I have to force myself to breathe, to stay calm.
“He deserved to die,” Lucas says. “You let him live. Why?”
“I’ve had a perfect day. Why spoil it with bloodshed.”
“So he lives because you don’t want your day spoiled?”
I don’t know what to say to that so I say nothing. I shouldn’t have to justify not murdering someone but in this upside down world, I feel like the one in the wrong.
As we walk back to the car, the tension between us is palpable. The warmth of the day, the connection we started to build, has been shattered by the reality of Lucas’s world.
I can feel the wedge it’s driving between us, the fear that’s pushing me further away from him, even as a part of me wants to hold on, to find comfort in the strength he exudes.
But how can I? How can I trust that strength when it’s the very thing that draws danger to us?
I glance at Lucas as we drive back to the penthouse, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He’s lost in thought, already planning his response, his retaliation.
But all I can think about is Greg’s words, the threat he made against our child, and the terrifying realization that this is only the beginning.
The museum, the brief escape into something normal, feels like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the darkness that follows us everywhere we go. And I can’t help but wonder if this is what my life will always be—a constant struggle to hold on to the light, while the shadows of Lucas’s world threaten to swallow me whole.
The penthouse feels colder than usual when we return, the weight of what happened outside the museum pressing down on me like a physical force.
Lucas barely says a word as we step inside, his focus already somewhere else—somewhere dark, where plans are made and enemies are dealt with. He shrugs off his coat, tosses it aside, and without a glance in my direction, strides toward his office.
I’m left standing in the middle of the living room, the silence deafening. The warmth we shared earlier, the connection that had started to build, is gone, replaced by a stark reminder of the reality I’ve been thrust into.
A reality where threats are everywhere, where the man I’m married to is both my protector and the source of my deepest fears.
My stomach twists with unease as I move through the penthouse, the grand space feeling more like a cavernous void tonight. I try to distract myself, picking at the food left for me in the kitchen, but everything tastes like ash in my mouth.
I push the plate away, my appetite gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread that won’t leave me alone.
Is this my life now? A series of threats, of men who want to hurt me just to get to Lucas? I thought I understood the danger when I married him, but tonight… tonight made it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I wander through the penthouse, my footsteps echoing off the marble floors, the emptiness around me amplifying the isolation I feel. Lucas is somewhere in his office, no doubt planning his next move, figuring out who that man was and how to neutralize the threat.
It’s what he does—he controls, he protects, he eliminates anything that stands in his way.
But where does that leave me?
The luxury, the opulence of this place—it’s all meaningless when the walls feel like they’re closing in, when I know that outside these doors, there are people who want to hurt us.
And Lucas…
I don’t know how to feel about him right now. Part of me wants to run, to escape this life before it consumes me. But another part of me—one I’m not sure I’m ready to acknowledge—wants to stay.
There’s something about him, something that pulls me in despite everything I know. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of me that feels safer with him than anywhere else.
But how can I reconcile that with the man I saw tonight? The man who didn’t flinch in the face of a threat, who’s probably in his office right now, planning how to eliminate the danger with the same cold efficiency he’s applied to everything else in his life?
The sound of the door opening startles me, and I look up to see Lucas stepping into the dining room. He’s calm, controlled, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier.
He doesn’t say anything as he sits down across from me, his gaze fixed on the table, as if he’s lost in thought.
The silence between us is thick, filled with all the things we’re not saying
Lucas’s eyes darken, and there’s a slight pause before he says. “Greg was hit by a car and killed ten minutes ago.”
I blink, the bluntness of his statement taking me by surprise. It’s like a punch to the gut, the reality of what he’s saying sinking in. I know what he means. I know Lucas doesn’t leave things to chance.
I swallow hard, my voice shaking as I ask the question that’s been haunting me since the moment we left the museum. “Did you… did you order it?”
Lucas meets my gaze, his expression hardening. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
I feel a cold dread settle over me, but I force myself to nod. “Yes. I need to know.”
His eyes are like steel, unflinching as he delivers the truth. “I did. Anyone who ever threatens you or our child will suffer the same fate. I’ll make sure of it.”
“But you promised me.”
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.”