Chapter 2 - Luca’s PromiseThe warehouse smelled like motor oil, wet concrete, and bad decisions.
Her knees simply gave out.
One second she was standing in the center of his penthouse, trembling beneath the white light of a crystal chandelier.
The next, she hit the marble floor.
Hard.
Four armed men reached for their jackets.
Luca lifted one hand.
“Don’t.”
Everyone froze.
The woman stayed on her knees.
Her name, according to the terrified doorman downstairs, was Emily Carter.
Twenty-eight years old.
No appointment.
No invitation.
And apparently desperate enough to force her way into the private Manhattan residence of a man half the city believed did not officially exist.
Her blond hair had escaped a loose ponytail. Dirt darkened one side of her face. Her gray tank top was torn near the shoulder.
But it was the bruises that changed something in Luca’s expression.
One wrapped around her upper arm in the unmistakable shape of fingers.
Another darkened her collarbone.
A cut split her lower lip.
Someone had hurt her recently.
Someone had hurt her repeatedly.
Luca rose from the sofa.
“Boss,” Marco warned.
Luca ignored him.
He crossed the room and stopped in front of Emily.
She flinched when his polished black shoes entered her vision.
That tiny movement irritated him more than it should have.
Not because she feared him.
People feared Luca DeLuca every day.
He had built his life around making dangerous men afraid.
But Emily’s fear was different.
It was automatic.
Instinctive.
The reaction of someone who had learned that when a man approached, pain usually followed.
Luca crouched.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“I said look at me.”
Slowly, she raised her face.
Her eyes were blue.
Exhausted.
But not broken.
“What happened?”
She swallowed.
“I need your help.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her gaze flickered toward the men behind him.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
She tried to stand.
Her body refused.
Luca caught her before her forehead struck the floor.
Emily gasped.
His left hand closed around her waist while his right steadied her jaw.
The second his fingers touched her skin, she recoiled violently.
“No!”
Every guard in the room stiffened.
Luca released her immediately.
Not because anyone ordered him to.
Nobody ordered Luca DeLuca to do anything.
But because he had seen genuine terror flash across her face.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Emily gave a broken laugh.
“That’s what he used to say.”
Silence settled over the penthouse.
Luca’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
Then she reached inside her torn handbag and pulled out a folded photograph.
She placed it on the marble between them.
Luca looked down.
The picture showed Emily beside an older man outside a small auto repair shop.
Behind them was a faded sign.
CARTER & SON AUTO REPAIR — EST. 1987
“My father died six months ago,” Emily whispered. “He left me the shop.”
Luca waited.
“Three weeks later, Vincent Moretti came.”
Marco cursed quietly behind him.
Luca’s eyes changed.
Vincent Moretti.
A mid-level criminal with the ambition of a king and the intelligence of a brick.
More importantly, Moretti had been warned six months earlier to stay away from businesses inside Luca’s territory.
“What did he want?”
“The property.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know.”
“And now?”
Emily pulled several crumpled papers from her bag.
“He offered me seventy thousand dollars. The property is worth almost two million.”
Luca took the documents.
She continued.
“I said no.”
His eyes lifted.
Emily touched the bruise on her arm unconsciously.
“He didn’t like that.”
Something inside Luca became very still.
“How many times?”
She looked away.
“Emily.”
“I stopped counting.”
Nobody moved.
Luca stood.
His men knew that expression.
They had seen it before wars began.
Emily suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait.”
Luca looked down at her hand.
She released him immediately.
“I didn’t come here because I want revenge.”
“Then why did you come?”
Her voice cracked.
“Because they took my brother.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“What brother?”
“Daniel. He’s nineteen.”
She dragged a phone from her pocket, unlocked it, and showed him a message.
A photograph filled the screen.
A terrified teenager sat tied to a metal chair.
Beneath it were five words.
SIGN TOMORROW OR HE DIES.
Luca stared at the image.
Then he asked one question.
“When did you receive this?”
“Forty-three minutes ago.”
Luca handed the phone to Marco.
“Find him.”
Marco was already moving.
Emily shook her head.
“You don’t understand. Moretti said if I went to the police—”
“I’m not the police.”
She stared at him.
For the first time, Luca saw something other than fear in her eyes.
Hope.
Fragile and dangerous.
“Why would you help me?”
Luca looked at the bruises covering her arms.
Then at the photograph of her brother.
Finally, he glanced toward his men.
“Because Vincent Moretti was warned.”
Emily’s brows pulled together.
“Warned about what?”
Luca slipped off his suit jacket and placed it gently around her shoulders.
Then he stood.
His voice was almost quiet.
“He was warned never to touch what was under my protection.”
Emily looked confused.
“I’m not under your protection.”
Luca turned toward the elevators.
“You are now.”
Marco looked up from his phone.
“We found the warehouse.”
Luca’s face became cold.
“How many men?”
“Eight, maybe ten.”
Luca checked his watch.
“Take twelve.”
Emily struggled upright.
“You’re going now?”
He looked at her.
“We’re bringing your brother home.”
“And Moretti?”
Luca’s scarred hand closed around the penthouse door.
A darkness entered his expression that made even his own men step aside.
“He gets to learn what happens when someone mistakes kindness for weakness.”
The elevator doors opened.
Before Luca stepped inside, Emily called his name.
He turned.
“Please.”
Her voice shook.
“Bring Daniel back alive.”
Luca held her gaze.
Then nodded once.
“You have my word.”
May you like
The doors closed.
And somewhere across Manhattan, Vincent Moretti had no idea that the bruised woman he had tried to break had just fallen at the feet of the one man he should never have made her desperate enough to find.
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