Not when Connor still needs to suffer more and understand what he took from my family.
Except when I look at Emma on the monitor, I’m not sure who’s suffering more.
My phone rings again and I groan when I see the caller ID.
Mamma.
I consider not answering, but that would just make things worse. Gianna Santoro has never accepted “I’ll call you back” as a valid excuse, and if I ignore her call, she’ll show up at the estate in person. Which would be…bad.
I answer. “Hi, Mamma.”
“Leonardo Giuseppe Santoro.” Her voice comes through the line like a whip crack, and I wince. Full name is never a good sign. “What in the name ofgodhave you done?”
Why is it every time I talk to my mother I immediately feel like I’m five years old again? “I can explain?—”
“You kidnapped a woman? At her wedding? In achurch?” Each question gets progressively louder and I have to hold the phone slightly away from my ear. “Have I taught younothing? Have you lost your mind completely?”
“Mamma, if you’ll just let me?—”
“Let you what? Let you explain why you’ve decided to start a war with the Irish mob? Valentina has called me because she’s worried you’re going to get yourself killed? You want to try and explain why you thought it was acceptable to drag an innocent woman out of a cathedral like some kind of barbarian?”
I wince. “She’s not innocent, she’s Connor Brennan’s daughter?—”
“She’s twenty-four years old!” my mother shouts. “She’s achild, Leonardo! What did she do to you? What did she do to deserve this?”
“Nothing, but her father?—”
“Her father killed Gabriel. Herfather.” Mamma emphasizes each word like I’m particularly stupid. “Not her. She probably didn’t even know about it. And now you’ve dragged her into this mess?”
“It’s not—” I try to find words that will make this sound less terrible, but there aren’t any. “Connor needs to understand?—”
“Connor Brennan is a bastard who deserves everything coming to him,” my mother interrupts. “But that girl? That girl did nothing wrong. And you’ve stolen her future, all to make a point to a man who probably doesn’t even care as much as you think he does.”
That last part hits harder than it should. “He cares,” I argue, because my entire plan hinges on Connor tearing the world apart for Emma. “She’s his daughter.”
“And you’re my son, but that doesn’t mean I agree with every stupid thing you do!” Mamma takes a breath, and when she speaks again, she’s quieter but somehow more cutting. “What would your father say if he were alive? What would Gabriel say?”
The mention of my brother feels like a knife between my ribs. “Mamma, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t remind you that Gabriel was kind and gentle and would be horrified by what you’re doing? Do I need to remind you that he wanted peace between the families, and he died trying to negotiate instead of fight?” Her voice breaksslightly. “He wouldn’t want this, Leonardo. He wouldn’t want you to hurt an innocent woman in his name.”
“She’s fine,” I say, but it sounds hollow even to me. “She’s safe, she’s being taken care of?—”
“She’s a prisoner! She’s locked in a room—oh yes, I know all about that, Leonardo—away from her family, probably scared out of her mind. That’s not ‘fine,’ that’s torture!” Mamma pauses, and I can hear her trying to compose herself. “I raised you better than this. I know I did. So what happened? When did my son—the one who studied architecture, who wanted to build beautiful things—become the kind of man who kidnaps women?”
“When Connor shot Gabriel in the head and left him to die,” I say quietly, my heart lodged in my throat. “That’s when.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. When my mother speaks again, her voice is gentler but still firm. “I miss him too. Every single day. But this won’t bring him back,bambino. Revenge never brings them back. It just creates more pain, more suffering, more loss.”
“I know.” And I do know. I’ve known since the moment I locked Emma in that room and saw the fear in her eyes. But knowing doesn’t change anything.
“Then let her go,” my mother says. “Before this gets worse and someone else gets hurt. Let her go home to her family.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?” Mamma asks sharply.
“Because—” I stop, realizing I don’t have a good answer. Because Connor needs to suffer more? Because I spent fiveyears planning my revenge and I’m not ready to admit it was a mistake? Because letting Emma go means admitting that Dante and my mother are right and I’m wrong? “I just can’t.”