Page 12 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

Emory

Neither of us moved. The silence in the room felt thick enough to touch, broken only by the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall.

I still held the recorder, my fingers clenched around it so tightly my knuckles had gone white.

Part of me wanted to throw it at him, to run, to scream—but what good would that do?

I was trapped, caught red-handed in his private domain.

And yet, he didn't look angry. That unsettled me more than rage would have.

Luca closed the door behind him with a soft click, his movements unhurried and deliberate. He crossed the room toward me, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. I backed up until my legs hit his chair, with nowhere left to retreat.

"Curious about the monster who holds you captive?" There was no anger in his voice, just a strange resignation that caught me off guard.

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My throat had closed up with fear.

He reached for the recorder, and I released it without resistance. His fingers brushed against mine during the exchange, warm and surprisingly gentle. The brief contact sent an unwelcome shiver up my arm.

"I assume you listened to it." He set the device on his desk and moved to the sideboard where crystal decanters of various liquors caught the light.

I found my voice at last. "Yes."

"And?" He poured amber liquid into a fresh glass, the ice cubes clinking musically.

"And what?" My voice came out stronger than I expected. "You want me to comment on your murder diary?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he turned to face me. "An accurate description." He gestured with his glass toward the folders spread across his desk. "You've been thorough."

"Not by choice. I was looking for something to help us escape."

"I know." He didn't seem bothered by my admission. "Would you like a drink?" He held up the decanter, tilting it slightly in question.

I stared at him, thrown by the casual offer. Was this a test? A trap? But my mouth was dry with fear, and something told me accepting might keep him talking. Information was power, and I needed every advantage I could get.

"Yes.”

He poured a second glass, crossing the room to hand it to me. I took it carefully, avoiding touching his fingers this time. The whiskey burned going down, but the warmth that spread through my chest gave me a false sense of courage.

"So now you know." He gestured to the folders. "About your life on paper, and a small piece of mine."

"The fire. Your parents."

His expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes—a darkness passing like a shadow. "Yes. I was seven. Old enough to understand death, not old enough to understand betrayal."

"What happened?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Luca moved to stand by the window, looking out at the darkness beyond though the drapes were mostly closed.

"My uncle Mateo wanted control of the family business.

My father stood in his way." He took a sip of his drink.

"The official report called it an electrical fire. I called it what it was—murder."

I watched him carefully, trying to reconcile this man with the emotionless killer I'd seen in the alley, with the seven-year-old boy in those photographs. "He killed your parents and took you in?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Luca turned back to face me. "The man who orphaned me raised me. Shaped me. Molded me into what he needed—the family enforcer. The Devil, they call me." His voice held no pride in the title, just a cold acceptance.

"Why are you telling me this?" I felt confused by his openness.

"Because you asked." He moved closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to maintain eye contact. "And because we're not so different, you and I."

I stiffened at the comparison. "I don't see how."

"Don't you?" He gestured to the folder containing my information. "We both lost our families. We both had to become survivors."

"I didn't lose my family the way you did. My parents abandoned me. They're still alive."

"Which is worse? Quick death or slow rejection? At least I never had to see the disgust in my parents' eyes."

His words hit too close to home, bringing back memories of my mother's face when I told her I was pregnant. The way her expression had hardened, how she'd said I was no longer welcome in their home. The phone calls that went unanswered after Mina was born.

"We're still nothing alike." I gripped my glass tighter. "I don't kill people."

Luca studied me, his blue-gray eyes seeming to see right through me. "No. But you'd do anything to protect Mina. So would I."

"Protect her?" I repeated, incredulous. "You're the one she needs protection from."

"Am I?" He took another sip of whiskey. "Think about it, Emory. Has your daughter been harmed under my roof? Has she been frightened or neglected or made to feel unsafe?”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. Apart from our initial separation, Mina had been treated well. Fed, clothed, even entertained. The unicorn pancakes, the playroom, the gentle way Luca had spoken to her at breakfast...

"That doesn't change what you are. What I saw you do in that alley."

"No, it doesn't." He didn't justify himself, which was worse than if he had. "But it might help you understand why."

"Why what? Why you kill people? Why you kidnapped us?"

"Why I had no choice but to bring you here after what you witnessed." He set his glass down on the desk. "And why I haven't killed you, despite it being the simplest solution."

A chill ran through me at his matter-of-fact assessment of our situation. "So why haven't you?"

He moved closer, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to look away, though I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Because Mina reminds me of myself. Because no child deserves to lose their parent the way I lost mine."

"But you're keeping her from her home, her life—"

"I'm keeping her alive," he interrupted, his voice hardening for the first time. "If my uncle knew about you two, he wouldn't hesitate. Children are collateral damage in his world."

The way he said it—with absolute certainty—made my blood run cold. I thought about the photographs in his file, the one of Luca as a teenager, eyes empty of emotion.

"What happened to you after the fire?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.

Something flashed across his face—pain, perhaps, or memory. "Mateo happened. He took a grieving child and turned him into a weapon. By sixteen, I'd learned how to kill efficiently. By twenty, I'd stopped feeling anything when I did it."

It should have disgusted me, terrified me. Instead, I felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy. What chance did a child have against that kind of upbringing? What kind of man could he have been under different circumstances?

"We're still nothing alike." But the words lacked conviction even to my own ears.

Luca seemed to hear the uncertainty. His gaze held mine as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confines of the study. "We both did what we had to in order to survive. The only difference is the choices we were given."

I looked away, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. The parallels he drew unsettled me deeply, not because they were false, but because they contained just enough truth to make me question everything.

A sudden noise from the hallway made us both freeze.

The floorboard creaked, followed by the distinctive sound of footsteps approaching the study.

Luca moved with startling speed, setting down his glass and positioning himself between me and the door in one fluid motion.

His hand moved to his waist, where I now noticed the outline of a gun beneath his shirt.

The protective gesture confused me—was he shielding me from whoever approached, or simply ensuring I couldn't escape?

Three sharp knocks on the door broke the silence.

"Enter," Luca commanded, his voice instantly harder, colder than it had been moments ago.

The door swung open to reveal one of his men—not Marco or Vincent, whom I recognized from our arrival, but another suited figure with the same dangerous efficiency in his movements. His eyes flicked to me briefly before focusing on Luca.

"Sir, we have a situation at the perimeter. Car approaching the south gate without clearance."

Luca's posture shifted subtly, tension radiating from his shoulders. Before I could even think about using this distraction to my advantage, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist firmly but not painfully. The message was clear: don't run.

"Identification?" Luca asked, his thumb absently rubbing against my pulse point in a way that felt strangely intimate despite the circumstances.

"Rental car, sir. Two men. Security cameras picked them up doing a drive-by earlier today as well. Same vehicle."

Luca's grip on my wrist tightened slightly. "Wake everyone. Full security protocol. I want the grounds swept and all entrances double-manned."

"Yes, sir. And the woman?" The guard glanced at me again, his expression unreadable.

"She stays with me." His tone left no room for argument. "Send Antonio to check on the child. Make sure her door is secure."

My heart leaped at the mention of Mina. "Is she in danger? What's happening?" The words spilled out before I could stop them.

Luca turned to me, his face inches from mine. "No one will harm your daughter. I give you my word."

The guard nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind him. Luca released my wrist but remained close, his gazze scanning my face with an intensity that made my skin warm despite my fear.

"What's going on?" I rubbed the spot where his fingers had been.

"Probably nothing." His tense posture suggested otherwise. "A precaution."

"Against what? Who would come here?" I searched his face for answers.

"Enemies. Rivals. My uncle has many of both." He began gathering the folders from his desk, sliding them into a drawer which he locked with a small key. "It's time to get you back to your room."

I thought about resisting, about using this apparent security threat as a chance to find Mina and escape. But the tightness in Luca's jaw, the way his hand kept returning to his concealed weapon—whatever was happening, it felt dangerous in a way that made my escape plans suddenly seem foolish.

"Will you check on Mina?" I hated how vulnerable the question made me sound.

His expression softened slightly. "Yes. After I've secured you."

He opened the study door, checked the hallway, then placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me out. Unlike earlier times when he'd touched me this way, I leaned into the contact slightly, accepting the strange security it offered in this moment of unknown threats.

We moved through the darkened hallways quickly, his steps silent but purposeful. Guards passed us, nodding respectfully to Luca while barely acknowledging my existence. The mansion had transformed from quiet slumber to alert watchfulness in minutes.

At my door, Luca paused, turning to face me. His hand remained at my back, warm and steady. "Don't try to escape again. I can't guarantee your safety if you're caught by someone else."

"Someone else like who?" I searched his face. "Your uncle?"

"Among others." His gaze held mine, serious and direct. "Mateo doesn't know about you and Mina yet. I've kept you separate from his operations for a reason."

The implication sent a chill through me. "What would he do if he found out?"

"Nothing good." Luca's thumb traced a small circle against my spine, perhaps unconsciously. "He doesn't share my... reservations about certain lines."

Children. He meant Mina. The thought made my blood run cold. He’d said earlier that his uncle wouldn’t hesitate.

"I'll send someone to bring extra blankets. The nights are getting colder."

I blinked at the unexpected concern. "Thank you."

He nodded. "I'll also have a book brought for Mina. I noticed she likes unicorns."

The consideration behind this gesture—remembering my daughter's preferences—confused me more than threats would have. "Why are you being kind to us?"

His expression grew distant, thoughtful. "Perhaps because no one was kind to me."

Before I could respond, he opened my door, checked the room, then stepped back to let me enter. "Stay here. I'll check on Mina myself and let you know she's safe."

"Thank you." Despite everything, I meant it.

He gave me one last long look before turning away. I closed the door and heard the lock engage from the outside. Alone again, I sank onto the edge of my bed, my head spinning from everything that had happened.

The man who had caught me breaking into his study hadn't punished me. Instead, he'd shared his painful past, protected me from some unknown threat, and promised to look after my daughter. The same man who'd kidnapped us after murdering someone in cold blood.

I laid back on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling as I tried to reconcile these contradictions.

My thoughts drifted to Mina's father, Tyler, who had abandoned us without a backward glance when responsibility came calling.

He'd been given every chance to be a good man, to do the right thing, and had chosen selfishness instead.

Luca had never been given that chance. Seven years old when his parents were murdered, raised by their killer to become a weapon. What choice had he ever had?

I pressed my palms against my eyes, ashamed of where my thoughts were leading. Was I actually developing sympathy for the man who held us captive? Was I justifying his actions because of his tragic past?

The worst part was the small voice in my head that whispered at least he didn't abandon his responsibilities like Tyler did. At least he keeps his promises. At least he's kind to Mina.

I rolled onto my side, pulling a pillow against my chest as if it could protect me from my own confusing emotions.

This was dangerous—far more dangerous than picking locks or sneaking through hallways.

To see Luca Moretti as anything other than our captor, to feel anything but fear and hatred toward him, was a betrayal of myself and Mina.

And yet, as I waited for news that my daughter was safe, I couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he spoke of his parents, the gentle way his thumb had traced circles on my back, the absolute certainty in his voice when he promised no one would harm Mina.

I could tell it would be easy to develop feelings for the devil, and that terrified me more than anything else.