Chapter 23
Emily Windsor's POV
I caught his meaning and lifted my head, feigning impatience. "Kevin, I don't understand any of this. Are we buying or not? I have a manicure appointment."
Luke set down his teacup and turned toward me, his gaze carrying a hint of indulgence, as if placating an unreasonable wife.
Then, he deliberately removed those gold-rimmed glasses.
The moment they left his nose bridge, the carefully constructed scholarly facade evaporated without a trace.
He leaned back into the sofa, crossing his legs, his cold gaze settling on Paul's suddenly rigid face, lips curling into an icy arc.
"Mr. Carter," his voice wasn't loud, yet it carried the chill of tempered steel, "I'm afraid I can't do business with you after all."
Paul's face drained of all color instantly. He stared at Luke in horror, his lips trembling, unable to form a single word.
Having navigated the underworld for years, how could he fail to recognize this face? How could he not sense that bone-chilling authority belonging only to those who commanded from the top?
"You... you're... Victor..."
Before he could finish, a sharp wail of sirens approached from outside, growing increasingly piercing as it split the air.
This was followed by the screech of brakes and a cold warning through a megaphone.
"Everyone inside, listen up! You're surrounded! Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up immediately!"
Paul slid from his chair, collapsing on the floor, ashen-faced.
I stared in shock at the scene outside. Below, red and blue police lights strobed across the street as countless patrol cars blockaded the gallery completely, armed officers already establishing a perimeter.
He'd arranged all of this beforehand.
I whipped my head toward Luke.
He maintained that languid posture, even finding leisure to lift his now-tepid tea for another unhurried sip.
"You..." My throat went dry, managing only that single syllable.
Luke set down the cup, turning his head toward me. Those ice-blue eyes held omniscient amusement and a trace of barely perceptible approval.
"You did excellently, Miss Windsor." He extended his hand, his fingertip lightly brushing the corner of my mouth, his voice low and tinged with dark humor. "Now, we should exit through the front entrance, playing the role of frightened, law-abiding citizens."
I froze in place, staring at that handsome yet ruthless face, my heart turning to ice.
He'd brought me here not merely for investigation and evidence gathering.
More importantly, he'd used me as bait—staging an elaborate performance, borrowing law enforcement's blade to effortlessly dismantle a critical operation belonging to his rivals.
I'd believed I was directing this investigation. Yet from beginning to end, I'd been nothing more than a chess piece on his board, my every move calculated with perfect clarity.
This man perpetually exceeded my expectations.
Sirens wailed below as Luke and I passed through the police cordon under protective escort, playing our parts as traumatized civilians.
Flashing red and blue lights illuminated my pallid face before reflecting in Luke's fathomless eyes. He even politely thanked the lead officer, maintaining such composed grace we truly appeared to be nothing more than innocent wealthy patrons caught in unfortunate circumstances.
Not until we'd settled back into the sealed cabin of the Maybach, completely isolated from the chaos outside, did my taut nerves finally snap.
I looked at him—this man who'd just weaponized law and justice itself to uproot his adversary from the foundations.
"You planned this all along," my voice came out parched, trembling slightly. "Calling the police, using me as bait, luring Mr. Carter into position, then leveraging law enforcement to gut Corleone's cash pipeline. Luke, what a magnificent scheme."
He didn't deny it. Methodically removing those black-framed glasses that had served as disguise, he reverted to his true self—the heir apparent to the Victor family, eyes sharp as broken glass.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" He angled his head toward me, dim interior lighting carving shadows along his hard jawline. "The money laundering case required evidence. I provided you an opportunity to obtain that evidence while simultaneously eliminating a problem. Two birds, one stone. My dear counselor, you should be pleased."
Pleased?
I felt only bone-deep cold!
I'd thought myself the player moving pieces. Only to discover I wasn't even a piece on the board—merely the fuse he'd used to detonate the entire game.
"Our transaction is complete." I drew a deep breath, forcing calm professionalism back into my voice. "I'll compile all evidence, ensure the Victor family emerges from this storm unscathed, and then I'm leaving."
Being near him was too dangerous. I could be sacrificed at any moment.
Luke remained unfazed. He released a low chuckle, leaning closer until that familiar aggressive scent of cigars and alpine forests engulfed me completely, oppressively intimate.
"Emily, did you forget?" His slender fingers toyed with a loose strand of hair near my ear, the gesture suggestive yet his eyes glacial. "Those paintings from Muse Gallery—worth over a million dollars—were purchased with my card. How exactly do you plan to repay that debt?"
My heart plummeted. "I'll transfer the money to you."
"I don't want money." His fingertip's callus grazed my earlobe in a barely-there caress that sparked involuntary shivers. "I want you. The Corleone family aren't fools. Carter's arrest, the gallery's seizure—they'll trace this disruption back to its source soon enough. Do you honestly believe you can live peacefully in New York without my protection?"
His words struck like hammer blows.
He was making it brutally clear: we were now tied together, whether I liked it or not.
I stared at him, finding my own reflection in those ice-blue depths—small, powerless, yet stubbornly refusing to extinguish.
"Luke," I finally sagged against the seat, exhausted, "you're a devil."
His lips curved upward. "Then stay beside the devil." He gripped my chin, warm breath washing over my mouth, his tone low and seductive. "At least this devil guarantees no lesser demons can drag you away."
His words carried heat against my skin, but my heart remained frozen solid.
The aftermath of the gallery money laundering case unfolded with more drama than any Hollywood blockbuster.
Police discovered extensive forged transaction records in Muse Gallery's secret chamber, along with damning ledgers capable of crippling the Corleone family financially. Paul, upon arrest, shouldered all blame himself alongside several subordinates who'd been conveniently silenced, insisting he was the mastermind with no Corleone connections whatsoever.
The Victor family emerged from this storm not merely unscathed, but with their reputation subtly rehabilitated through "inadvertently" assisting law enforcement in cracking a major case.
And I, as the Victor family's legal representative, became an overnight sensation.
Media outlets painted me as a fearless rising star in the legal world—someone who'd leveraged professional excellence to extract her client from the mire despite powerful opposition.
Watching myself lauded across financial news programs, I felt no triumph. Only profound discomfort. I'd won the most spectacular victory of my career, yet simultaneously forfeited my freedom and soul.
"Seems our collaboration proved quite successful." Luke materialized behind me at some point, setting a warm glass of milk at my elbow.
I switched off the television without turning around. "The case is closed. The Victor family's completely cleared. My obligation's fulfilled."
"Is it?" He circled before me, looking down with that commanding height advantage. "The Corleone problem remains unresolved. Furthermore, you still owe me over a million dollars. Plus a life. Emily, our accounts are far from settled."
He delivered this shameless statement in the calmest possible tone.
I understood perfectly: as long as he chose not to release me, I'd never finish repaying this debt.