He glares at me, his dark brows pulling in. “Emma?—”
“Don’t ‘Emma’ me,” I interrupt, shooting him my best glare as I walk toward the study door and open it. “There’s work to do and I’m helping. End of discussion.”
“Notend of discussion,” Leo argues, his long legs easily catching up to me and forcing me to pause in the hallway. “You’re pregnant,” he adds, like this is a winning argument.
“I’m aware. I’m also perfectly capable of cleaning up broken glass and wiping down surfaces. What I’m not capable of is sitting upstairs while everyone else deals with this mess.”
We stare at each other. Leo’s jaw is set in that stubborn way that means he’s not backing down. My jaw is probably set the exact same way because I’mdefinitelynot backing down.
“Dante,” Leo calls without breaking eye contact with me. “Come here.”
Dante appears from wherever he was lurking—probably making sure Dad’s men actually left the property. He looks at both of us and I see the exact moment he realizes what’s about to happen.
“What?” he asks warily.
“Help me convince Emma to go rest,” Leo says, his eyes locked on mine. He smirks at me, as if already expecting Dante to agree with him. I roll my eyes again. If I’m not listening to Leo, why would I listen to Dante?
“Nope,” Dante says immediately, shaking his head.
Leo’s head whips toward him. “What?”
“Nope,” Dante repeats, already backing away. “I want zero part of this. Zero. Zilch. Nada. You two figure it out yourselves.”
I smile widely, wanting to punch the air in triumph. Leo looks like someone kicked a puppy. “Seriously, Dante?” he asks incredulously.
“I took a punch to the face for you today, Leo,” Dante says, gesturing to the bruise blooming on his jaw. “And nearly got shot. Multiple times, I may add. I am not getting involved in whatever domestic dispute this is. You’re on your own.”
He walks away before Leo can argue.
Leo turns back to me, clearly irritated but now trying a different tactic. He takes my hands in his. “Emma,” he says pleadingly. “Please. And you know how hard that is for me to say. You’ve had a traumatic day. You somehow escaped my panic room, stood between me and your father, and negotiated for hours. You need rest.”
“And you got shot at, fought off an assault, and negotiated just as long as I have,” I counter. “So by that logic, you should be resting too.”
Leo’s earnest expression changes into a scowl. “I’m not pregnant.”
“No, but you are bleeding,” I point out, gesturing to the blood soaking through his shirt. “So maybe you should be the one resting while I help clean up.”
We glare at each other.
“I’m helping,” I say flatly. “You can either accept that and let me do the easy stuff, or you can keep arguing and I’ll do whatever I want anyway. Your choice.”
Leo’s jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. “Fine. But,” he holds up a finger, “you stay away from the bodies. And ifyou start feeling tired or sick or anything, you stop immediately. Deal?”
I nod. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the bodies anyway. “Deal.”
“And you’re not lifting anything heavy.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mom.”
He ignores that. “And if I say you need to rest?—”
“Don’t push it, Santoro.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “Stubborn woman,” he sighs.
“You love it,” I shrug.
“I really do,” he admits, and pulls me in for a quick kiss. “Even when it’s infuriating.”