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“Get rid of her,” he yells, and his men move toward Emilia and lift her and the chair like she weighs nothing.
I feel Sebastian seething, but his eyes stay locked on Hugo. My heart thumps from my chest as I take a step away from Hugo and toward her, ready to protect her body with my own. I am going to kill every last bastard in this room. I am going to take down this whole fucking French family.
“Stop!!” A big booming voice echoes around the room as an older man, surrounded by four men, walks in. Lucas Moreau, Godfather of the French mafia and Hugo's father. He might be in his mid-sixties, but his eyes are on fire and all the men in the room stop and bow to him, showing a sign of respect.
“Release her immediately,” he says in a tone that means business, and the men holding Emilia lower her chair back to the floor and get busy untying her wrists, removing the gag from her mouth. Her eyes are wide, looking at the older man as his eyes drill into her face. His men help her to stand.
“You have my eyes, darling,” he says to her softly, and I look between him and her, suddenly completely confused.
“Oh my God...” I hear her whisper, her breathing ragged, gulping for air in between small sobs. She looks at me then, water in her eyes, and I take two long strides and I am by her side. Grabbing her body, I pull her to me. Not caring if anyone tries to stop me.
“Papa!” Hugo shouts to his father, again lacking any respect, but the old man gives him a death stare.
“Put your gun away, you stupid boy,” his father spits out as he walks to Sebastian.
“Sebastian,” Lucas says, putting out his hand.
“Lucas.” Sebastian shakes his hand.
“I apologize for my son. It appears he is making some rash decisions lately.”
“It appears so,” Sebastian responds flatly, not giving him an inch.
Lucas turns to look at Emilia again and walks up to us, eyeing her closely. My grip on her gets tighter. I don’t like him looking at her like this. I don’t want her to know this kind of life. I dragged her into this mess; it is not a place for a woman like her to be.
“How long have you known?” Emilia asks the man, and I look at her like she is crazy. Why is she talking to him?
“I didn’t, really. Not until I saw you just now. You are the spitting image of my mother when she was your age,” he says with a small, sad smile.
“Emilia?” I question, looking at her for clarity on what the fuck is going on.
“Nico, this is my father, Lucas Moreau. Godfather of the French Mafia, owner of Dragonfly,” Emilia states, before her eyes roll to the back of her head, and she drops, my arms catching her just in time.
41
EMILIA
Ifeel something cold on my face. Taking a subtle swipe at it, my eyes remain closed, feeling sleepy and exhausted.
“Bambolina, you need the ice on your face,” I hear Nico’s voice whisper to me, and I slowly open my eyes to see his big brown ones.
He is hovering above me, his hand holding a cold compress to my cheek, his other hand brushing the hair from my face.
“Nico?” I croak out.
“Here, have some water.” Sebastian’s voice punches the air, and the head of the New York Mob walks toward me with a cup, passing it to Nico before he takes a few steps back and admires me from across the room.
“Here, bambolina,” Nico says, and I try to sit up, but Nico needs to help me as the room starts to spin a little.
“Take it easy,” he grits out, and my hand clenches in his tightly. The cool water quenches my dry throat as my eyes dart around the room. We are in a bedroom. It is large, elegant, with sun streaming in the French doors on the side and I can see the expansive bright blue waters outside.
“More,” Nico demands, and my eyes land back on his. I stare at him as I take another sip.
“Better,” he says, putting down the cup on the side table.
“You’re being bossy already. I just woke up,” I sass him, and when his eyes alight in anger, I gulp.
“I’ll be outside,” Sebastian says, as he turns and walks out the door, giving us some privacy.
