Page 44 of The Mafia’s Fiancee

Chapter 16

Emma

Luke left with Jimmyin such a hurry that I feared they’d both be walking into a trap. If that Rossini guard hadn’t addressed Jimmy so urgently, I would’ve cautioned Luke to think twice.

I hadn’t known Nina Sawyer for long, but I was getting to know my future husband very well. He doted on his mother and would always take care of her. More than once, he’d stressed about not seeing her while we’ve been hiding.

Of course, he’d jump into action and go rescue her.

But what if that’s it? What if Antonio or my father are banking on that to get Luke to come out of hiding?

The only reassurance I could tell myself was that it seemed unlikely for anyone to know who Luke’s mother was. The Marcheses had gotten so interested in Luke in the first place because he had been seen with me. And I was definitely on Antonio’s radar.

But it seemed that they had only figured out Luke’s connection to Jimmy, and then dug further and found out that Luke was Marlo’s son. It hardly mattered who Nina was. It sounded like she was just an ordinary woman, not affiliated with any family. Luke didn’t have many details about how his mother conceived him, and Jimmy brushed off those questions so well that it nagged me.

The concept of being lured out of hiding came true not even an hour after Luke and Jimmy left.

I frowned at a call from Krista. It went straight to voicemail, which was nothing but her screaming.

I was instantly on edge, listening to the recording a few times to see if it was her. With AI and all these damn apps that could make the impossible look and sound so real, I was skeptical.

A video came afterward, of Antonio prowling around Krista tied to a chair. Her face was bloody. A huge cut showed on her mouth.

He tilted his head side to side in that stupid habit he had. His words chilled me, but I fought to remain levelheaded.

“You said you’d rather die than give up Luke,” he started in a pedantic tone. “But would you let someone else die instead?” He gripped her hair and tugged so she’d look at the camera someone else held. “Do you want your lovely whore of a friend to die?”

He pulled her hair so she’d look up at him.

“Do you want to die?”

She spat at his face. “Fuck you.”

Antonio growled, releasing her with a shove and stalked away to clear the bloody spit from his face. “Emmalina. If you don’t come here and agree to leave Luke, she’s dead. You hear me? She’ll be dead. Let that sit on your conscience, you stupid bitch.”

My blood pressure soared with each time I rewatched the short video.

It had to be her. He’d used her phone to contact me on this burner, but he couldn’t trace it to me. Jimmy had rigged both of my and Luke’s burners to be routed nowhere.

It was Krista, no doubt about it. He had her phone. It looked like her. And her talking back and spitting on him rang true to her nature as well.

I paced in the room Luke and I had claimed. Back and forth, I wore down the tread on the carpet. With my hand on the back of my neck, I rubbed the muscles that had yet to lose the tension pulling there.

Anxiety claimed me. My heart sank at the knowledge of my only friend, my best friend, being hurt because of me. She didn’t deserve this. She shouldn’t be caught up in this.

The more I paced, frantic about this obvious bait that Antonio was lying for me, the deeper and hotter my anger grew. It escalated into a force of wrath I struggled to bottle in.

Envisioning killing that sick sadist, I let my thoughts wander into dark territory. I’d shoot him. I could strangle him. A knife over his throat would work, too. Grisly and gruesome wishes filled my mind, but I tried my best, again, to detach from the turbulent emotions overtaking me.

I had to think.

I had to focus and not panic.

It didn’t help that all my calls to both Jimmy and Luke went unanswered. If they were on their way to recover Nina from whoever had taken her, they couldn’t have their phones ringing.

As I strained to react properly, I realized how alone I was. None of these Rossini guards would help me. No one in the Marchese residence would give a shit about what I wanted.

It. Is. A. Trap.