Chapter 42 Luke The Next Day
Luke’s POV
The morning air was cool, sharp, and brimming with the promise of chaos. I adjusted the lapels of my crisp suit, the polished leather shoes clicking against the pavement as I strode to the rental shop. In one hand, I carried a sleek briefcase, its weight a perfect prop for the role I was about to play—a lawyer with all the answers.
Gabriel had filled me in on Emmanuella: money was her god, her lifeblood. She would do anything for it. To win this game, I had to become the kind of man she’d listen to, someone who reeked of power and wealth.
“I’ll take this one,” I said, pointing to a black BMW.
“That’s $1,000 for 24 hours,” the rental guy replied without blinking.
Gabriel had paid me in advance, and I could cover the cost. Flashing the bills felt almost too easy. After settling up, I slid into the driver’s seat, the hum of the engine as sharp and commanding as my focus. This wasn’t just a car—it was bait, another piece of the puzzle.
For days, I’d been studying Emmanuella like a predator tracking prey. Her social media pages, her habits, her friends—I knew it all. By now, I probably knew her better than she knew herself. And that knowledge? It was my weapon.
From my research, I knew Emmanuella thrived on attention—parties, glamorous outfits, rubbing shoulders with the elite. Her best friend, Sam, was cut from the same cloth. But heartbreak had recently turned Emmanuella into a recluse. A fallout with Roy, the guy she’d been toying with, left her licking her wounds in private. That made her predictable and vulnerable.
Sam, however, was an open book. She posted everything online, even her phone number. She was my way in.
Dialing her number, I leaned back in the BMW, letting the lie drip from my lips like honey. “Hey, Sam,” I began.
“Who is this?” she asked, her voice tinged with confusion.
“This is Attorney John. I’m afraid your friend Emma is in serious trouble. Her boyfriend, Roy, is dead, and she’s the prime suspect. I know she didn’t do it, and I want to help, but she needs to meet me before the FCA gets to her.”
“What?!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with panic. “Roy? Who’s Roy? Emma’s married to Gabriel Moretti! Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”
“Listen, Sam,” I said sharply, my tone cutting through her hesitation. “Emma’s phone is unreachable. If you care about her, you’ll get her to meet me at Blossom Tea Shop in five minutes. If the FCA finds her first, she’ll be looking at life in prison. Is that what you want?”
Her breathing quickened, panic evident in every shaky exhale. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll call her.”
The line went dead, and I smirked. Women were easy to manipulate when emotions ran high. All it took was the right mix of urgency and fear. Now, to make my lie convincing.
Using Emmanuella’s hacked phone, I pulled Roy’s address from one of their old conversations. He was the next piece of the puzzle.
The house was modest, unassuming. I knocked sharply on the door.
When it opened, Roy stood there, alive and clueless. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at the stranger on his doorstep.
I pulled out a fake ID and flashed it quickly before tucking it back into my pocket. “Detective Silas,” I said, my tone cold. “I’m here to ask you some questions about the murder of your girlfriend, Emmanuella.”
His face twisted in confusion. “Emmanuella? Murdered? When? How?”
“That’s what I’m here to figure out.” I stepped into his living room without waiting for an invitation, my eyes scanning the space. “Are you alone, Mr. Roy?”
“Yes, I live alone. But—what do you mean she’s dead? I just saw her yesterday!” His voice cracked with panic, the innocence in his tone almost laughable.
I turned my back to him, slipping a pair of leather gloves onto my hands. “Interesting,” I murmured. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a telephone cord, letting it dangle ominously.
“What are you doing?” Roy’s voice wavered, his instincts kicking in too late.
I crouched near the wooden floorboards and ran my fingers along a faint groove. “Did you strangle her here, Mr. Roy? These dent marks suggest a struggle.”
“What?!” he exclaimed, rushing forward. “I didn’t do anything! What marks? Let me see!”
The moment he leaned down, I struck. Wrapping the telephone cord around his neck, I yanked it tight, his startled gasp turning into desperate gurgles. He clawed at the cord, his body thrashing, but I held firm, my grip unrelenting.
His struggles slowed, his movements turning feeble until, finally, his body went limp. The room fell silent, the only sound my own steady breathing.
I stood, smoothing the creases in my suit as I stared down at his lifeless form. “Dead men tell no tales,” I muttered as I rose to my feet, packed his body into nylon, and drove to a nearby river and dumped him there.
"Now we proceed," I said as I wiped my hands with a hand sanitizer and reversed away.
"Get ready Emma." I grinned.