Chapter 19
Emily Windsor's POV
Weakness was the original sin.
I stared at Luke, searching those ice-blue eyes for even a flicker of doubt or mercy—just one moment of hesitation.
He stared back with perfect calm, his gaze deep as an ancient well. The girl in that cage might as well have been a circus act for all the emotion he showed.
So this was the truth: the boy peeling apples in Brooklyn and the tyrant silently condoning human trafficking were the same person. He wasn't contradictory—he simply reserved all his humanity for the dead and inflicted his cruelty on the living.
I couldn't take it anymore.
Nausea surged up my throat. That suffocating smell of blood seemed to wrap around me all over again.
I shoved Luke away, hard enough that my chair scraped against the floor with an ear-splitting screech.
The sudden noise drew several pairs of eyes, but I was beyond caring.
"Excuse me." It took every ounce of strength I had to keep my voice from shaking.
Without another glance at him, I fled the suffocating room like a hunted animal.
My trembling fingers tore at the sapphire necklace around my neck. Passing a champagne tower, I flung the fortune in diamonds onto the table without breaking stride.
The night air hit me like ice. I hurried through the estate's manicured gardens, my heels clicking frantically on the cobblestone path—a staccato rhythm matching my racing heart.
A wave of emotion crashed over me. I stopped beside a massive oak tree, gasping for air. My stomach churned violently. I braced myself against the rough bark and dry-heaved, but nothing came up except bitter bile burning my throat.
That's when I heard it—a low whistle, followed by several crude laughs.
"Well, well. Look what we have here. A lost little lamb."
My body went rigid. I straightened and whipped around.
From the other end of the garden path, several gaudily dressed men were approaching. They'd clearly just left the auction too, reeking of alcohol, their eyes crawling over me with undisguised hunger.
These weren't Luke's men. They wore flame-shaped lapel pins—I'd seen them in case files. The Corleone family, a rival crime syndicate from the West Side.
The leader had a hooked nose. His greedy gaze roamed my body before settling on my face, his smile turning vile. "All alone in the cold, sweetheart? Why don't you come have a drink with us boys?"
Alarm bells exploded in my head. I stepped back carefully, maintaining distance, my voice flat. "I have somewhere to be. Move."
My rejection seemed to infuriate them.
The hooked-nose man's expression darkened. He exchanged a glance with his companions. Immediately, they fanned out, surrounding me, cutting off every escape route.
"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" He advanced slowly, his stare growing bolder. "Our boss is in a bad mood tonight. Needs some entertainment. You're coming with us, and trust me—you'll enjoy it."
His words were filthy and direct. I forced myself to stay calm, my mind racing.
This was Luke's territory, but security seemed concentrated near the main building. This secluded stretch of garden was a blind spot.
"Do you know whose estate this is?" I tried using Luke's name as a deterrent.
The hooked-nose man burst out laughing like I'd told the world's funniest joke. "Of course we do. Victor family turf. So what? Our boss and Luke go way back. He won't mind if we borrow his date for a bit of fun."
He clearly thought I was just some disposable arm candy Luke had brought along—or worse, hired help.
Cold dread slithered up my spine.
This wine-red gown might look striking, but it severely limited my movement. And my meager self-defense skills were laughable against seasoned mobsters.
"Back off!" I snapped, fumbling for my phone in my clutch, making a show of dialing.
The hooked-nose man's face went stone cold. He lunged forward, ripped the phone from my hand, and smashed it on the ground. The screen shattered instantly.
"You don't take a hint, do you?" He seized my wrist in a crushing grip that ground bone against bone. "Guess we'll have to teach you some manners."
"Let go of me!" I struggled violently, driving my heel toward his groin.
He dodged easily, tightening his hold. His other hand began sliding toward my waist.
Despair swallowed me whole.
Just as those filthy fingers were about to touch my skin, a gunshot tore through the night.
The hooked-nose man's body jerked. He looked down in disbelief at the dark red bloom spreading across his chest. The lust and violence drained from his eyes. Then, like a felled tree, his massive body crashed to the ground at my feet.
Warm blood splattered across my hem—crimson drops like flowers blooming in hell.
I stood frozen, mind blank, staring stupidly at the fallen man.
The metallic scent of blood mixed with gunpowder, forcing its way into my nose and dragging me back to brutal reality.
From the shadows at the edge of the garden, a tall figure emerged.
Luke.
He still wore that impeccably tailored black suit, shoulders squared, his face carved from stone in the dim garden lights.
He held a black handgun, a wisp of smoke curling from the barrel.
Those ice-blue eyes showed nothing—as if he'd just crushed an inconvenient insect.
The remaining men nearly collapsed from shock. When they recognized Luke, the color drained from their faces. Their legs buckled.
"Mr.… Mr. Victor…" one stammered, voice trembling. "We didn't know she was yours, we—"
Luke didn't let him finish. He didn't even look at them again, just tilted his chin slightly.
From the silent tree line, several black-clad figures materialized like ghosts.