He left my baby brother to bleed out alone in that warehouse and denied him help, denied him mercy, denied himeverything.
Connor took all of that and left us with grief and rage and a hole that will never be filled.
So I’m taking his daughter.
It’s not fair to her and it’s certainly not just, but when has this life ever been about fairness?
We live in a world built on violence and retribution, where blood demands blood.
Connor should have thought about consequences before he put a bullet in my brother’s head.
“Careful, princess,” I tell Emma, keeping my voice level. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’ll hurtyou!” She tries to yank her wrist free, but I hold on. “Let go of me right fucking now or I swear to god?—”
“You swear to god what?” I lean in slightly, genuinely curious. “You’ll hit me again? No offense to you, but my sister hit me way harder when we were kids.” I tilt my head to the side, studying her. “Or were you planning to scratch me again? Go ahead. I’ve got another cheek.”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under and halfway to hell.
Emma Brennan has the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.
They’re not just green, but this intense, clear green that reminds me of sea glass, and right now they’re absolutely blazing with hatred.
Her pupils are dilated from adrenaline and her lashes are clumped with mascara starting to run from tears she’s furiously holding back.
There’s something about the combination of beauty and absolute rage that I find?—
Stop it. This isn’t about her.
But Jee-sus, she’s putting up more of a fight than I expected.
I’d thought Connor would have trained that rebellious streak out of her and made her compliant and obedient like most mob daughters are raised to be.
Seen but not heard.
Decorative but not difficult.
Clearly, I thought wrong.
“Let. Me. Go.” Emma punctuates each word with another attempt to wrench free, her whole body twisting.
The wedding dress makes it awkward, but she doesn’t let that stop her.
I don’t let go.
Instead, I take great satisfaction in saying, very calmly, “No.”
That single word seems to do something to her.
I watch the change happen—the way her eyes go even wider and her breath catches.
Her expression shifts from pure rage to something that might be desperation or the first real understanding of how fucked her situation is.
“No?” she repeats, and her voice cracks. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean exactly what I said. No. I’m not letting you go. Not now, not when we get where we’re going, not until I decide your father has suffered enough for what he did to my family.” I watch her process this. “So I suggest you get comfortable, princess, because you and I are going to be spending alotof time together.”
For a moment, she just stares.