Chapter 26
Emily Windsor's POV
What could I really do? March up to two massive crime families and demand justice with nothing but righteous fury?
All my pride, all my professional expertise—against raw, brutal power, it was laughably fragile.
A crushing sense of helplessness consumed me. I slumped against the bookshelf, my body sliding down until I collapsed onto the carpet in a heap of defeat.
Luke rose to his feet, towering over me, watching me fall apart completely before him—pathetic and broken.
After what felt like an eternity, he slowly crouched down, meeting me at eye level.
He reached out to touch my cheek. I jerked my head away sharply, avoiding his hand.
His fingers froze mid-air before he withdrew them.
"Emily," his voice carried an unfamiliar rasp, barely perceptible, "I'm sorry about what happened back then. But I'm not letting you go."
"My attorney," he whispered, his thumb gently wiping away a single tear on my cheek, his gaze deep and obstinate, "I'll help you get your revenge."
Luke's words were like an incantation, each syllable laced with dark persuasion, hammering against my already shattered heart.
I lifted my tear-blurred face to look at him.
Then I smiled—a bitter, mocking curve of my lips. "Luke, the killer was your father's enforcer. The Victor family is responsible. You expect me to trust a murderer to help me get revenge?"
"Woody's dead." Luke cut me off, his ice-blue eyes devoid of warmth. "I dealt with him myself. For many reasons, including those innocent souls at that Queens restaurant."
I froze.
"I know it's not enough." He looked at me, his eyes churning with emotions I couldn't decipher. "But Emily, this isn't your fight alone. The other party in that shooting—they're the Lowe Family, now working with Jacob."
He laid out the brutal reality, raw and bleeding, before me.
This wasn't a choice between justice and evil. It was choosing which bottomless swamp would devour me less quickly.
Did I even have a choice?
Julie was right. The Lowe Family and Jacob would only use me as a pawn against Luke, then discard me when they were done.
But Luke, at least for now, he still needed me.
"I want to know everything." I hauled myself up from the floor, wiping my tears dry, mustering every ounce of strength to reclaim the cold rationality that defined me as an attorney. "That shooting—everyone involved, every detail. I want it all."
I locked eyes with him, my gaze burning with undisguised hatred and determination. "Luke, that's my only condition for staying."
Rather than drowning in useless grief, I'd dig up the truth myself.
It was the only thing I could do for Grandma. The only way to numb myself from the tangled mess of emotions I couldn't unravel.
Luke studied the renewed fire in my eyes, silent for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.
"Alright." He finally spoke, giving me his answer.
---
Luke provided me with every scrap of information on the shooting. I locked myself in my office, poring over the files day and night, searching for the truth buried within.
The document Julie showed me—the Lowe Family had deliberately leaked it.
They wanted to use me to sow chaos within the Victor family, positioning themselves to profit from the fallout.
Which meant they held more evidence. Crucial evidence.
I needed a way to get close to the Lowe Family.
I pulled out every case my firm had handled since its founding, finally spotting a familiar name in an obscure commercial dispute.
Lawrence Lowe.
The youngest son of the current Lowe Family patriarch. A textbook spoiled brat who coasted on family power, indulging in every vice imaginable.
The file showed he'd been sued over a bar brawl, ultimately settled with a massive payout arranged by the family's attorneys.
Lawrence seemed simple-minded and easily manipulated—my only viable point of contact.
I dug up everything on him from the firm's archives, including his favorite haunts. After days of research and staking out locations, I narrowed my target to the Glitz Private Club.
Night fell, and the city lit up in neon brilliance.
I changed into a sleek black cocktail dress, applied flawless makeup, and drove alone to the club.
This was Manhattan's playground for the elite—a money pit for the rich, with security tighter than Fort Knox. Everyone who walked through those doors had serious clout.
I didn't have a reservation. The doorman stopped me cold.
"I'm Emily Windsor. I have an appointment with your manager." I handed over my business card, my tone calm but brooking no argument.
The name "Emily Windsor" carried weight in New York's upper circles these days.
The attendant didn't dare refuse. He hurried inside to check. Minutes later, a suited manager emerged, ushering me in with respectful efficiency.
I knew my high-profile arrival would reach Lawrence's ears soon enough.
Sure enough, half an hour later, the private room door slammed open.
A young man in a garish silk shirt strutted in, flanked by a small entourage.
He looked barely past his early twenties, handsome in a dissipated way—pale and overindulgent from too much booze and late nights. His expression carried the spoiled arrogance of someone who'd never heard "no."
He swaggered up to me, squinting through bleary eyes as he raked his gaze over me from head to toe. Then he smirked, clearly entertained. "So you're the infamous Miss Windsor? What's wrong, got bored of Luke's bed and want to try mine for a change?"
His lackeys erupted in crude laughter, their comments vile.
I ignored the provocation, lifting my glass. "Mr. Lowe, I'm here to discuss a business proposition."
"Business?" Lawrence laughed like I'd told the world's funniest joke. He dropped onto the sofa across from me, crossing his legs with exaggerated flair. "Miss Windsor, what kind of business could you possibly offer me? Legal services? Or maybe... yourself?"
His gaze crawled over me, thick with undisguised lust.
I swallowed my disgust and cut to the chase. "I know you have information about the Queens restaurant shooting. Name your price. I'll buy it."
At the mention of the shooting, Lawrence's smirk faded slightly. "Well, well. You're well-informed, counselor. But why would I sell to you? That's my ace against Luke."
"Because to you, it's just icing on the cake. To me, it's everything." I met his eyes directly, my voice earnest. "Mr. Lowe, I have no interest in your war with the Victor family. I just want justice for my dead relative."
Lawrence fell silent. One of his cronies leaned in, whispering something in his ear.
I caught Luke's name in the murmur.
Lawrence's expression shifted instantly.
He looked at me now like I was an amusing new toy.
He suddenly grinned, standing up and closing the distance between us. He bent down, his warm breath ghosting over my ear.
"Justice for your dead relative?" He chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with malicious amusement. "I suppose that could be arranged."
He reached out, his cold fingers tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those glassy eyes glittered with twisted delight.
"Here's the deal, Miss Windsor," he drawled, each word deliberate and slow. "Sleep with me for one night. Then I'll hand over everything you want. Gift-wrapped."