Chapter 7 - The Betrayal Within
The phrase my future wife echoed in Emma’s head long after they returned to the estate. Lucian hadn't explicitly proposed, but the declaration had been made in front of every major crime lord in the tri-state area.
Emma sat on the window sill of her bedroom, watching the rain wash over the glass. She was falling deeply, irrevocably in love with Lucian Vance. She loved his fiercely protective nature, the quiet softness he showed only to her and Sophie, and the way his eyes tracked her every movement. But she was terrified of the dark world he ruled.
A quiet knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. It was Victor, Lucian’s second-in-command. He held a silver tray with a cup of warm tea.
"Miss Brooks," Victor said respectfully. "Mr. Vance asked me to bring you this. He is wrapped up in an emergency meeting in the basement war room."
"Thank you, Victor," Emma said, taking the cup with a warm smile. "You look tired. You should get some rest too."
Victor looked down, a strange shadow of hesitation passing over his face. "You are too good for this place, Miss Brooks. You really are."
He bowed slightly and left the room.
Emma took a sip of the tea. It tasted slightly bitter, with an odd metallic aftertaste. Setting the cup down on the table, she felt a sudden, heavy dizziness wash over her. Her vision blurred, the walls of her room spinning violently.
She reached for the desk to steady herself, but her legs gave out. She crashed onto the carpet, her muscles completely paralyzed.
Through the haze of slipping consciousness, her bedroom door opened again. But it wasn't Lucian.
Victor stepped into the room, followed by three men wearing tactical gear and heavy masks—the insignia of the Moretti family on their sleeves.
"I’m sorry, Miss Brooks," Victor muttered, looking away in shame. "Moretti has my family. I had no choice. He promised to let my children live if I delivered you to him."
Emma tried to scream, tried to raise her hands to sign or fight, but the heavy sedative in the tea dragged her down into pitch-black darkness.
Downstairs in the war room, Lucian stood over a map of Manhattan when his phone buzzed. It was an encrypted video message from an unknown number.
He opened it.
The screen revealed Emma, tied securely to a wooden chair in a dark, concrete basement, her lip bruised, unconscious. Mateo Moretti’s face appeared on the screen, a vicious, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
"You took my dignity at the gala, Vance," Mateo’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Now I take your world. If you want your precious baker back alive, come to the abandoned docks at Warehouse 4. Alone. No guards, no cops. You have two hours. Or I send her back to you in pieces."
The phone screen went dark.
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Lucian’s face transformed into something terrifying. The room seemed to drop ten degrees in temperature. He didn't scream, nor did he break the table. He simply turned around, his eyes burning with a cold, terrifying fury that scared even his most seasoned lieutenants.
"Gather every man we have," Lucian ordered softly, pulling two heavy assault rifles from the wall armory. "Tonight, the Moretti family ceases to exist."
