His voice is ragged and it’s nothing like the controlled man who raised me. Connor Brennan doesn’t lose his cool or show weakness. He doesn’t let emotion cloud his judgment.
This man is seconds from falling apart.
“Emma, what the hell are you doing here?” Leo’s voice cuts through, sharp and furious. “I told you to stay in the panic room! How did you even—” His eyes rake over me, taking in my bloody hands, my torn clothes, the cuts on my arms. “Did you break out?” He blinks at me, in clear disbelief. “How thefuckdid you break out?”
I turn to look at him and something about the genuine shock on his face—like he can’t believe I actually got out of his fancy security system—makes me want to laugh. Or maybe punch him. Possibly both.
“What can I say, Leo?” I say sarcastically. “Turns out locking me in a steel box just pisses me off and makes me really motivated to escape.” I shrug. “Who knew?”
He’s still gaping at me, his brown eyes wide with shock.
“Also, your panic room security is shit,” I add, because I really do love twisting the proverbial knife. “I only needed medical scissors. You should really invest in a better system.”
Leo comes back to himself and scowls at me. “This isn’t fucking funny.”
“You think I’m joking?” I gesture at my hands, covered in cuts and bruises. “I tore apart your locking mechanism with my bare hands because you decided to play the overprotective mob boss card. So no, Leo, I don’t take orders from you. Not about this. Not about anything.”
“I was trying to keep you safe!” Leo snaps, and there’s genuine fury in his eyes now. “You could have been killed!”
“And you could have been killed while I was locked in that goddamn room!” I shout back. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there and wait?”
I start walking forward into the space between them.
The bodies are everywhere. I step over Antonio—gap-toothed Antonio who made terrible jokes. Dead. I step around James—poker-playing James who always had a deck of cards in his pocket. Dead. Two of my father’s men whose names I should know but don’t. Also dead.
This is what happens in our world. People die. It’s not pretty, it’s not noble, it’s just business gone wrong. I’ve known that since I was old enough to understand what my father actually did for a living.
But it doesn’t make it easier to look at.
But I don’t flinch or cry because Connor Brennan’s daughter doesn’t fall apart. Ever.
I position myself between them, equidistant from both, my back to neither. My feet are planted wide for balance on the blood-slicked marble, and the gun is still in my hand. I raise it, not pointing at anyone, just holding it up so they can both see it.
It’s a reminder. I know how to use this. I know where to aim. And I will if I have to.
I can smell the blood and nearly taste it in the air, copper and iron coating my tongue. I can feel it beneath my shoes, warm and sticky.
This is what loving Leo Santoro costs. This is what choosing him means.
And I’m still choosing him.
“Emma,move!” My father’s voice cracks on the word, like something inside him is breaking. “Move right now! I’m taking you home!”
“I am home,” I say.
My father’s face goes white.Actuallywhite, like all the blood just drained out of it in a single horrible rush. His gun wavers slightly and for a second I think he might drop it and crumple to the floor and give up entirely.
I’ve never seen my father look like this. I’ve never seen him look so…broken. So lost.
And I did this to him. Me. His daughter. The guilt is crushing. Absolutely crushing.
“What?” The word is barely a whisper. “Emma girl, no. No, you don’t mean that. You can’t—this isn’t—he’s?—”
He’s trying to find words and failing. Connor Brennan, who always has the right words, who can negotiate billion-dollardeals and convince anyone of anything, can’t find the words to convince his only child to come home.
Because there are no words. Nothing he can say will change my mind.
“I do mean it.” I hate how my voice is wavering. I can feel tears burning behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. “Dad, I?—”