The silence is deafening. I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears along with the breathing of the surviving men scattered around the room. The creak and groan of the damaged chandelier overhead is the only sound, crystal pieces shifting and threatening to fall.
But no one speaks. No one moves.
Behind me, I feel Leo go completely still. Not just quiet—still, like every muscle in his body has locked up. He inhales sharply and his hands tighten on my shoulders for just a second before releasing entirely.
His hands drop away from me and the absence of his touch is jarring and wrong.
I wince. I just told my father I’m pregnant before I told Leo.
Fuck. Fuck fuckfuck.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Leo was supposed to know first. I was going to sit him down somewhere quiet and explain and give him time to process. He deserved at least that because this is his baby too.
But when does anything in my life go the way it’s supposed to?
In front of me, my father looks like he’s been shot, like I actually pulled the trigger and put a bullet in his chest. His face has gone white—whiter than I’ve ever seen it. The gun in his hand wavers, shakes, and lowers slightly like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold.
“You’relying.” The words are barely audible. “You’re lying to make me stop. You’re—Emma, tell me you’re lying.”
“I’m not.” I’m surprised my voice is so steady because internally, I’m screaming. “I’m not lying, Dad. I’m pregnant. I think I’m five or six weeks along?” I shrug. “Maybe closer to six. I just found out.” I gesture vaguely at myself. “I took a test and it was pretty positive. I was going to tell Leo but then?—”
I don’t finish, but then again, I don’t need to. The evidence of what happened next is scattered across this room in pools of blood and broken bodies.
“Then you showed up with your army,” I say instead.
Dad’s still staring at me as if he’s never seen me before and trying to memorize my face. He looks at me as if he’s trying to find the daughter he lost somewhere in the stranger standing in front of him.
And I can see the exact moment he understands. The exact moment it all clicks into place.
The way I’m standing protectively in front of Leo, and the cuts on my hands from breaking out of the panic room.
He sees what Leo’s probably been seeing for weeks now.
I’m not the same girl he lost. I’m not the Emma from her wedding day. I’m not his little girl who did what she was told and smiled at business associates and wore the right dresses to the right events and never questioned his decisions.
I’m someone different now. Someone forged in fire and violence and impossible choices. I’m someone stronger and fiercer. I’m certain of what I want and willing to stand in front of a gun to get it.
And I’m pregnant with Leo Santoro’s baby.
My father’s face crumples and devastation spreads across his weathered features. His mouth opens and closes. Opens again. No words come out.
Connor Brennan—who always has the right words and can negotiate anything, who built an empire on his ability to talk his way in or out of any situation—has nothing to say.
The silence is fuckingpainful.
“He—he stole you,” my father says finally. There’s no rage or fury in it now, just bewilderment. His grief so deep and vast I can feel it from here, pressing against me like a physical weight. “He took you and he—Emma, he stole you fromme. You’remydaughter.Mylittle girl. He stole you and now you’re—you’re?—”
He drops his head, unable to make himself say it.
Pregnant. With the enemy’s child. Choosing the man who destroyed our family over the father who raised her.
“I know.” My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. “I know he did, Dad. Iknowhe took me. Iknowhe kept me here. I know he’s the reason everything fell apart.”
I have to stop and swallow past the lump in my throat before I can continue.
“And I fell in love with him anyway.”
The words are going to kill my father, but I say them because they’re true. My father deserves the truth even if it destroys us both.