Page 7 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

"Your zip ties too tight?" I noticed how she kept shifting her bound wrists.

"Yes." Her voice was steady despite her situation. Impressive.

"Good." I returned my attention to the road. Discomfort kept people compliant, off-balance.

The child—Mina—had stopped crying, but her breathing came in irregular little hiccups that punctuated the silence. The satin of her costume rustled with each tremor that passed through her small body. Her blonde hair had come loose from beneath the unicorn hood, falling across her face.

I turned onto the private road that led to the compound, tires crunching on the gravel.

The high stone walls appeared ahead, topped with security cameras and discreet lighting that illuminated the perimeter without drawing attention.

Two armed guards stood at the gate, straightening as my car approached.

I lowered my window as one stepped forward, recognition flashing across his face when he saw me.

"Mr. Moretti." He gave me a nod, then his gaze flicked to the back seat, widening slightly at the sight of the woman and child. To his credit, he didn't ask questions. "Welcome home, sir."

I didn't acknowledge his greeting. "Open the gate. And call ahead. Tell Marco and Vincent to meet me at the main entrance."

"Yes, sir." He stepped back, speaking rapidly into his radio as the massive iron gates swung open.

I pulled through, feeling the familiar sense of security that came with entering Moretti territory.

Here, I controlled everything and everyone.

The main house rose ahead, a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion with strategic sight lines and multiple escape routes hidden within its elegant architecture.

Security lights cast the marble driveway in a cold glow, highlighting the manicured landscaping that concealed additional security measures.

In the backseat, Emory's breathing quickened. I heard the sharp intake of breath as she took in the size of the estate, undoubtedly calculating just how far she was from help, from escape.

"Where are we?" she asked.

I didn't answer. Explaining myself wasn't a habit I cultivated.

I parked in front of the main entrance where Marco and Vincent waited, both dressed in tailored suits that didn't quite hide the weapons they carried.

Their expressions remained neutral as I exited the car, but I caught the quick exchange of glances between them.

Unexpected guests were rare, especially ones that included a child in a Halloween costume.

I opened the rear door. "Out."

Emory struggled awkwardly, her bound hands making it difficult to maneuver with the child still stuck to her side. I reached in and gripped her upper arm, pulling her from the car with enough force to establish control but not enough to make the girl topple out.

"Watch them," I instructed Marco, transferring my grip on Emory to him. "I need to make a call."

I stepped away, pulling out my phone while keeping my eyes on the captives.

Emory stood rigidly in Marco's grasp, her hair disheveled, her cheap cat-ear headband askew. The child buried her face in her mother’s neck, leaving only the purple unicorn horn visible from my angle.

Dirt from the alley smeared the costume, and tears soaked it until the fabric clung and shone wet in the dim light.

My call went unanswered—as expected. My uncle Mateo rarely picked up his phone after midnight unless the call came from his inner circle, which no longer included me. I'd have to deal with this situation on my own, at least for now.

I returned to where Marco held Emory, her expression a mixture of terror and defiance as she watched me approach. The security lights cast harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the tension in her jaw, the fear in her eyes.

"Take them inside. Separate rooms."

Emory's body went rigid. "No! You can't take my daughter from me!" Her voice echoed against the stone facade of the mansion, desperation making it crack.

I stepped closer, invading her space. "Lower your voice."

"Please," she said, softer but no less intense. "She's just five years old. She needs me."

Mina whimpered against her mother's neck, small fingers clutching desperately at Emory's shirt. "Mama, don't let them take me."

Something unpleasant twisted in my chest at the sound—not guilt, certainly, but perhaps recognition of a complication I hadn't fully anticipated. Children were unpredictable variables. Difficult to control through normal means of intimidation.

"The child goes in the blue room." I looked at Vincent. "The mother in the east wing guest suite. Lock both doors."

"You can't separate us," Emory insisted. "I won't let you."

I raised an eyebrow at her presumption. "You don't have the power to let me do anything."

Vincent moved forward to take the child, but Emory turned her body, using herself as a shield despite her restraints. The zip ties had cut into her wrists; I noted the thin line of blood trickling down one hand.

"Get the child." My patience was waning.

Vincent reached for Mina, his large hands closing around her small waist. The girl screamed as he pulled, her fingers digging into her mother's clothing, refusing to let go.

"No! No! Mama!" She thrashed, doing everything she could to remain with Emory.

"Stop it! You're hurting her!" Emory lunged against Marco's restraining grip, her face contorted with a mother's rage. "Please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't separate us!"

I studied her for a moment. Her compliance would make things simpler, but allowing her to dictate terms would set a dangerous precedent.

"Your cooperation is noted, but the arrangements stand. Take them inside. Now."

Vincent finally separated Mina from her mother, holding the thrashing child awkwardly as she screamed. Emory's struggles intensified, her gaze never leaving her daughter as Marco dragged her toward the mansion's entrance.

“Mina, it's okay, baby! I'll find you! I promise!"

The child's wails echoed across the compound as Vincent carried her inside. I watched them disappear into the house. A complication, indeed. But perhaps a useful one, depending on how I played this.

I followed them inside, the doors closing behind me with a heavy finality. The decision about what to do with Emory Scott and her daughter could wait until morning. For now, they were secure, contained, and—most importantly—unable to tell anyone what they had witnessed in that alley.

"Wait." Vincent stopped immediately. "Not yet."

I wanted to assess the woman more thoroughly before separation. Information was power, and I needed to understand exactly what I was dealing with.

Vincent hesitated, still holding the squirming girl. Mina had stopped screaming, but tears streamed down her face as she reached for her mother with small, desperate hands.

"Release her." I gestured to Emory's arm. "But stay close."

Marco obeyed instantly, stepping back but remaining within striking distance.

Emory didn't run to her daughter as I expected.

Instead, she turned to face me fully, her chin lifting in a gesture of defiance that surprised me.

Anyone else in her position would have dropped to the ground, paralyzed by terror.

"We won't tell anyone what we saw. Just let us go."

Those seemed to be the only words she knew, repeating them like a parrot.

I circled her slowly, my footsteps echoing off the marble like a countdown.

She turned with me, unwilling to present her back—another sign of unexpected savvy.

Her blonde hair had tangled, the ridiculous cat ears now hanging off one side of her head.

The zip ties had cut deeper into her wrists, blood staining the plastic.

"That's not possible. You've seen too much."

"We didn't see anything," she insisted, desperation edging her voice. "It was dark. Halloween night. We were confused."

I smiled without humor. "You saw me standing over a dead man in an alley. Saw my face. You know my name."

She flinched at my directness but recovered quickly. "We don't know anything about you. We just want to go home."

"Mama," Mina whimpered from spot besides Vincent. "I want to go home. Please."

Emory's gaze darted to her daughter, then back to me. I could almost see the calculations running behind those hazel eyes—weighing options, seeking leverage, looking for any weakness she could exploit.

"The child is tired." I stopped my circling to stand directly in front of Emory. From this position, I towered over her by nearly a foot, forcing her to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. "Halloween night interrupted. Such a shame."

Emory shifted her weight, trying to position herself between me and her daughter despite the distance Vincent maintained. A futile gesture, but intriguing in its instinctive protectiveness.

"Mommy, why are we here?" Mina asked. "I want to go home."

Emory's composure faltered for a moment, pain flashing across her features before she controlled it. "I know, sweet pea. We'll go home soon."

"Don't lie to the child. It creates false hope."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "What do you want from us?"

A reasonable question, one I was still formulating the answer to myself. "For now, your silence. Beyond that remains to be determined."

I moved closer, invading her personal space deliberately. My tailored suit did little to conceal my muscular build—a fact I used to my advantage in intimidation. Most people instinctively backed away. Emory held her ground, though I could hear her breathing quicken.

"You're Luca Moretti. As in the Moretti crime family." Her eyes widened, as if she’d just put the two together. "I've seen your picture in the newspaper. With your uncle."

I reassessed her instantly. Knowledge made her more dangerous, but potentially more useful. "And what do you know about the Moretti family, Emory Scott?"

"Only what everyone knows. That you're powerful. Dangerous."

I smiled coldly. "Then you understand your situation perfectly."

"Mommy?" Mina called again, her voice cracking. "The man is scaring me."

Emory's facade cracked slightly, maternal instinct overtaking self-preservation. "It's okay, baby. Just look at me. Don't be scared."

I studied the interaction with clinical detachment. The child was Emory's weakness, and therefore a point of leverage. Yet something about the girl's innocent fear created an unexpected discomfort in me. Children weren't targets in my world. They were to be protected, or at minimum, ignored.

"I have a proposition. Your cooperation in exchange for the child's comfort."

Hope flickered in Emory's eyes, quickly replaced by suspicion. "What kind of cooperation?"

"Information. About what you saw. About what you know. Complete honesty."

"And in exchange?"

"The child will not be harmed or traumatized further." I gestured to Vincent. "She'll remain in a comfortable room with appropriate food and care."

Emory's bound hands twisted, searching for a position that caused less pain. "And me?"

"You'll be questioned. Thoroughly." I let the implication hang in the air between us. "Your answers will determine what happens next."

Her gaze darted around the foyer, taking in the armed guards, the security cameras disguised as decorative elements, the sheer impenetrability of my fortress. I could see her realizing the hopelessness of her situation, the mathematical certainty that there was no escape.

"You don't have to separate us. I'll tell you everything you want to know. Just let me stay with my daughter."

I considered this briefly. Keeping them together would minimize the child's trauma, potentially making Emory more cooperative. But it would also give Emory something to fight for, a reason to resist or lie if she thought it would protect her daughter.

"No. Separation is necessary for now."

Her face hardened with renewed determination. "If you hurt her—"

"You're not in a position to make threats."

"It's not a threat. It's a promise. Hurt my daughter, and I'll make you pay, no matter what it costs me."

I assessed her with new interest. Most people begged for their own lives when facing me. This woman thought only of her child. It was... unexpected.

"Your loyalty is admirable. Misplaced in your current situation, but admirable nonetheless."

"Please." Her voice cracked. "She's just a little girl. She doesn't understand what's happening."

I glanced at the child, who had gone quiet, her blue eyes wide with exhaustion and fear. "Vincent will take her to the blue room. It has a proper bed and adjoining bathroom. You will be taken to a separate room for questioning."

"No!" Emory surged forward, only to be caught by Marco's quick reflexes. "No, you can't! Mina!"

The child began crying again at her mother's distress, reaching out with renewed desperation.

I nodded to Vincent, who turned and carried the struggling child toward the east wing. Emory's scream of protest echoed through the foyer, bouncing off marble and crystal to create a symphony of maternal anguish that even I found difficult to ignore.

"Your cooperation ensures her safety," I reminded Emory coldly as Marco restrained her. "Remember that."

She fixed me with a gaze so filled with hatred it could have cut glass. "I'll remember everything. Every second of this. Every word. Every face."

I met her gaze without flinching. "Good. Then you'll also remember that your daughter's wellbeing depends entirely on you."

As Marco led her away in the opposite direction from her daughter, I remained in the foyer, considering the unexpected complications this Halloween night had brought. Emory Scott was not what I had expected. Not a simpering victim, not a broken hostage, but a mother with the ferocity of a lioness.

Interesting. Potentially useful. Definitely dangerous.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling to my uncle Mateo's number. It was time to report this development… on my terms, in a way that would serve my purposes. After all, every complication could become an opportunity, with the right handling.