Chapter 5
Emily Windsor's POV
Another sleepless night.
The bathroom mirror reflected a face drained of color—pale, hollow-eyed, haunted.
I stared at my reflection. This was the same Emily Windsor who'd eviscerated opponents in court, who'd never lost a case in seven years. But the woman staring back at me now had terror etched into every line of her face.
I'd made a deal with the devil himself.
The realization settled over me like ice water, chilling me to the bone.
I forced myself to move. Mechanically, I walked to my closet and selected my most imposing power suit—sharp lines, crisp white blouse, killer heels. I applied makeup with precision, building layers of professional armor around the panic threatening to consume me.
The morning dragged on interminably. I sat at my desk, staring blankly at case files, unable to focus on a single word. My gaze kept drifting to the window.
Every time a black car drove past twelve stories below, my heart would clench.
At 11:59 AM, Joe knocked and entered, his expression peculiar. "Emily, there's a gentleman downstairs asking for you. He said... you had an appointment."
My heart stopped mid-beat. My fingers tightened around my pen until my knuckles went white.
"I'll be right down." I kept my voice steady, betraying nothing as I gathered my coat and bag.
Outside the building, a black Bentley Mulsanne sat at the curb—understated yet commanding an undeniable presence.
The tinted window lowered, revealing a sharp profile in the driver's seat. Not Luke.
The driver emerged and opened the rear door with a respectful bow. "Miss Windsor. Mr. Reed is waiting for you."
I drew a deep breath and slid inside.
The interior was spacious, expensive, suffused with that same scent I recognized from Luke—cedar and tobacco, cold and intoxicating.
The car pulled smoothly into traffic. I watched the cityscape blur past, feeling like I was being carried toward an abyss I couldn't escape.
Eventually, we stopped in front of an exclusive private club.
Security was tight—no one got through those doors without a reservation. A host in an impeccable suit led me through hushed corridors to a private room.
The door opened.
Luke sat on a leather sofa near the floor-to-ceiling windows, idly flipping a metal lighter between his fingers.
Today he wore charcoal gray slacks and a black cashmere sweater—tailored, refined. Without the formal suit, the dangerous edge he carried seemed softer, more languid. Somehow, that made him even more unnerving.
He glanced up. Those ice-blue eyes—calm as deep water, yet capable of drowning you without warning.
"Sit." He gestured toward the sofa opposite him. Not a request. A command.
I didn't move. My gaze locked on the manila envelope resting on the coffee table between us. "Where's my earring?"
Luke's lips curved into the ghost of a smile. He reached into his pocket and produced the sapphire stud, holding it in his palm.
Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the jewel and refracting brilliant blue light. It made my eyes sting.
"Miss Windsor, you seem in a hurry." He watched me with the lazy satisfaction of a predator toying with trapped prey.
"It was just a transaction between us," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "Once it's done, we should be square."
At that, Luke laughed—a low, dark sound. He rose and crossed the room toward me.
He was at least a head taller, and as he closed the distance, the sheer presence of him threatened to suffocate me. "Miss Windsor, do you really believe that night was just a transaction?"
His gaze cut through me like a blade, stripping away every layer of pretense.
I stepped back instinctively—and my shoulders hit the door. Trapped.
"What do you want from me?" My voice came out harder than I'd intended, though a tremor crept in at the edges.
He didn't answer. Instead, he raised one hand, his fingertips brushing my cheek with unbearable lightness before coming to rest on my earlobe. "Emily Windsor. Twenty-eight years old. Law degree from NYU. Seven-year practice with an undefeated record. Father's a university professor. Mother was a concert pianist—passed away three years ago. You're allergic to peanuts. You drink black coffee, no sugar..."
With every word, the blood drained further from my face. Some of this information was public record. But some of it—details even Jacob didn't know.
My blood turned to ice. "You investigated me?"
"I like to be prepared." Luke withdrew his hand, placing the earring in my palm. His warm fingertips grazed my skin—a whisper of contact that sent an involuntary shiver through me. "Especially when it comes to understanding my... companions."
That last word—spoken so softly—hit me like a sledgehammer.
Humiliation and fear tangled together, making my entire body tremble.
"Who the hell are you?" I clenched the earring tight, its edges biting painfully into my palm. The sharp sting grounded me, helped me claw back a shred of composure.
"Who I am doesn't matter." Luke stepped back and returned to the sofa, crossing one leg over the other with infuriating ease. "What matters, Miss Windsor, is that I'm very interested in the Victor family case you just took on."
The Victor family.
Everything clicked into place with sickening clarity. All my worst suspicions confirmed in an instant.
"I don't know what you mean." I forced myself to stay calm, my legal training kicking in as I tried to assess the situation.
"You will." Luke's gaze drifted to the manila envelope. "This case runs deeper than you think."
His words dropped like stones into a still pond, sending ripples of dread through me.
"I don't need your warnings." I turned toward the door, desperate to escape this suffocating room.
"Friday night. Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up." His voice followed me, brooking no argument. "We'll discuss the case."
I froze, hand on the doorknob. I didn't turn around. Didn't answer.
"Oh, and Emily?" he added, almost as an afterthought. "Stay away from Jacob and that Julie. They're not worth your time."
I yanked the door open and fled—there was no other word for it—practically ran down the corridor and out into the street.
Back in the car, I collapsed against the seat, completely drained.
The sapphire earring felt ice-cold in my palm, a brutal reminder that everything that had just happened was real.
I hadn't just gotten involved with a mobster. I'd gotten involved with someone who knew everything about me—and who intended to tie me to his world whether I liked it or not.
What could I do? Refuse him?
I had no doubt that with his resources, rejecting him would end badly. Possibly worse than what had happened to my grandmother.
But obeying him meant allying myself with the very people I hated most. It meant betraying the vow I'd made over her grave.
The car stopped outside my office building. I stumbled out in a daze, watching the Bentley disappear around the corner.
I didn't notice the nondescript sedan parked half a block away, or the man inside lifting his phone.
"Sir, Miss Windsor has returned to her office."
On the other end of the line, Luke stood before floor-to-ceiling windows in a penthouse suite, gazing down at Manhattan's glittering skyline.
His ice-blue eyes churned with unfathomable depths.
"Keep an eye on her," he said quietly, his tone laced with unmistakable possession. "Anyone who tries to get close to her—Jacob or anyone else—deal with them."