Page 8 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

Emory

I woke with a gasp, my head pounding as if someone had taken a hammer to my skull.

Disoriented, I blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling—ornate crown molding, soft recessed lighting that hurt my eyes.

This wasn't my bedroom. This wasn't my apartment.

For one blessed moment, confusion reigned before memory crashed back—the alley, the murder, the man with ice-cold eyes forcing us into his car. Mina. Where was Mina?

"Mina!" I bolted upright, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain exploded behind my eyes. The room spun violently, forcing me to grip the silken bedsheets to keep from falling back.

It felt as if someone had drugged me. I didn't remember it happening, but the cottony feeling in my mouth and the way my limbs seemed disconnected from my brain made me think someone had slipped me something.

After they'd taken my daughter away. After they'd dragged me screaming down a different hallway.

My stomach lurched with fear and nausea as I forced my eyes to focus on my surroundings.

The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment and decorated in rich creams and dark blues.

Morning light filtered through heavy drapes that didn't quite meet in the middle.

A crystal chandelier hung overhead, and the bed I sat on was king-sized, with a carved wooden headboard that probably cost more than my car.

My wrists caught my attention next. The zip ties were gone, replaced by angry red welts and dried blood where the plastic had cut into my skin during my struggle.

Someone had removed them while I was unconscious—the thought of unknown hands on me while I couldn't defend myself sent a fresh wave of panic through my body.

Where was my baby? Was she scared? Was she hurt? The thought of her alone and crying for me was unbearable.

I swung my legs off the bed, fighting another wave of dizziness.

I was still wearing my clothes from Halloween night—jeans and a light sweater, both dirty and wrinkled from the struggle in the alley.

The cat ears were long gone. I glanced around the room, looking for a door, a window, any means of escape.

The sound of a lock turning froze me in place. I tensed, ready to fight despite the throbbing in my head, despite knowing I stood no chance against the man I'd seen murder someone with such cold efficiency.

The door swung open, and he entered. Luca Moretti.

In daylight, he was even more imposing—tall and muscular, his presence filling the spacious room instantly.

He wore another impeccable suit, this one navy blue, with a light blue shirt open at the collar.

No trace of the previous night's violence showed on his person.

He looked like he'd stepped out of a business magazine, not like someone who had kidnapped a mother and child after murdering a man.

"You're awake." His deep voice resonated in the quiet room. He carried a glass of water in one hand and what looked like pills in the other.

I stood shakily, backing away until my legs hit the bed frame. "Where is my daughter?" My voice came out stronger than I expected, fueled by a maternal fear that overpowered even my throbbing headache.

He crossed the room with measured steps, placing the water and pills on the nightstand. "Mina is fine. For now."

The casual threat in those last two words made my blood run cold. My hands trembled visibly, and I clenched them into fists at my sides.

"I want to see her. Right now." My Southern accent slipped out, stronger than usual, the way it always did when I was upset.

"You will. After you've composed yourself. Take these." He gestured to the pills.

I eyed them suspiciously. "What are they?"

"Pain medication. For your head." His gaze flicked to my forehead, where I suddenly realized I must have a bruise or cut. "You were... uncooperative last night. One of my men was perhaps overzealous in restraining you."

Memory flickered—being dragged down a hallway, fighting, the butt of a gun connecting with my temple. I touched the spot gingerly, feeling a raised lump. "I’m not takin' anything you give me. I want my daughter. Now."

Something that might have been admiration—or perhaps just mild interest—flickered across his face before his expression returned to its usual impassivity. "The medication is safe. You're of no use to me impaired."

"Of no use to you?" Anger momentarily overtook my fear. "We're people, not things to be useful."

"In my world, everything and everyone serves a purpose. Your cooperation ensures your daughter's comfort. That starts with taking care of yourself." He picked up the glass of water and held it out to me.

My hands trembled harder as I took the glass, careful not to let our fingers touch. The cool glass against my palm felt surreal in this nightmare scenario.

"How do I know she's really okay?" The thought of Mina alone and scared was unbearable.

Luca reached into his pocket and produced a phone.

He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it to face me.

Security camera footage showed a room—much like this one but decorated in soft blues and whites—where Mina sat on a bed, still in her unicorn costume, though someone had removed the rainbow mane.

A woman in a dark uniform was brushing my daughter's hair.

Mina's face looked tear-stained but calm.

"She's being well cared for." Luca tucked the phone away before I could memorize any details of the room that might help me find her. "Take the medication. Rest. You'll see her soon."

I swallowed hard, weighing my options. Fighting him would get me nowhere—I'd learned that last night. I only hoped to stay calm, gather information, and escape with Mina.

With shaking hands, I took the pills and placed them on my tongue, then I tucked the pills into my cheek and drank the water. The cool liquid soothed my parched throat, making me realize how dehydrated I was.

"Good. A maid will bring you clean clothes shortly. There's a bathroom through that door if you wish to shower." He gestured to a door I hadn't noticed.

"Please let me see my daughter. She needs me. She's just five years old, she must be so scared."

Luca studied me for a long moment, his blue-gray eyes revealing nothing. "You care deeply for her."

"She's my child. Of course I care for her. She's everything to me."

He nodded slightly, as if filing this information away. "Get dressed. I'll have someone bring you to her in one hour."

Relief flooded me so intensely that my knees nearly buckled. "Thank you." Thanking the man who'd kidnapped us, who held our lives in his hands, felt awful.

Luca moved to the door, then paused. "Emory, your daughter's continued comfort depends entirely on your cooperation. Remember that."

With that final warning, he left, the lock clicking ominously behind him.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my entire body shaking now.

One hour. One hour until I could hold my baby again.

I had to be strong. Had to find a way out of this nightmare.

I spit the pills out and hid them under the mattress.

"I'm coming, sweet pea," I whispered into the empty room. "Mama's coming."

Exactly one hour later, Luca returned to my room without knocking.

I'd showered and changed into the clothes provided—simple jeans and a soft blue sweater that somehow fit perfectly, a detail that unnerved me more than it should have.

I stood as soon as the door opened, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Where's Mina?" were the first words out of my mouth.

"Follow me." He stepped back to allow me into the hallway.

I moved cautiously, my body tense as if expecting a trap.

The hallway stretched in both directions, lined with artwork that probably cost more than everything I'd ever owned.

Luca placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to the right.

I flinched at the contact but didn't pull away, too afraid of jeopardizing my chance to see Mina.

"Your daughter is having breakfast," he informed me as we walked. "She slept through the night."

I bit back a retort about how she'd cried herself to sleep according to the security footage.

Instead, I focused on memorizing our route through the mansion.

Left at an ornate mirror, down a sweeping staircase with a wrought iron banister, across a marble-floored foyer.

The place was enormous—a sprawling testament to the Moretti family's criminal empire.

I spotted security cameras discreetly positioned at every junction, and men in dark suits strategically stationed throughout. No easy escape routes presented themselves. Even the windows appeared to be reinforced glass.

"How much further?" I asked, my voice tight with impatience.

"We're here." Luca stopped before a set of double doors, turning to face me. "A word of advice: maintain your composure. Children sense fear. Your daughter seems to have adjusted remarkably well, all things considered. Don't undo that."

The clinical way he assessed my daughter's emotional state made my skin crawl. "She's five years old. She needs her mother, not kidnappers playing house."

A flicker of something—irritation, perhaps—crossed his face before his expression smoothed. "As you wish." He pushed open the doors.

The dining room was grand, with a long mahogany table that could have seated twenty people. Enormous windows overlooked manicured gardens, and a crystal chandelier cast prisms of light across the polished surface. But I had eyes only for Mina.