I dig my heels in—or try to, but the marble floor is too smooth and my wedding shoes have no traction.
I throw my weight backward, trying to make myself as difficult to move as possible, but Leo just adjusts and keeps walking like I weigh nothing at all.
I scream for my father, for Tony, for anyone who might help.
“Dad! Daddy, please!” My voice cracks on the words. I hate how desperate and frightened I sound, but I can’t help it. “Don’t let him take me!”
“Emma!” My father’s voice is raw with anguish and rage, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him trying to get a clear shot, trying to find an angle that won’t put me in the line of fire.
But Leo keeps me positioned perfectly with his men between us and any potential shooters.
Tony’s still at the altar and I can see him over Dad’s shoulder, frozen with his mouth open and his eyes wide, looking absolutely useless in his tuxedo.
He’s not moving to help me.
He’s not even reaching for a weapon.
He’s just standing there like a statue while his bride is being kidnapped right in front of him.
“Tony!” I scream at him, furious now along with the fear. “Do something!”
But he doesn’t.
He just stares, and in that moment I realize that Tony Lombardo would never have made me happy.
He wouldn’t have protected me or fought for me.
I would have spent the rest of my life married to a man who freezes when things get hard, who stands by while his wife needs help.
At least Leo Santoro has the courage to act, even if what he’s doing is monstrous.
We’re at the doors now, almost outside, and I can feel warm summer air mixing with the incense-scented cool of the cathedral.
I make one last desperate attempt to break free, throwing all my weight to the side and screaming loud enough that my throat burns with it.
Leo’s arm tightens around my waist, hard enough that I can’t breathe properly, and he leans down so his mouth is right next to my ear. His voice is low and cold.
“Stop fighting or I’ll have my men shoot your father. Your choice.”
I go still because I know he means it.
I can hear the truth in his voice, can feel it in the way he’s holding me.
Leo Santoro will kill my father if I don’t cooperate, and he won’t hesitate.
Hell, he wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
He’s already lost his brother to Connor Brennan.
What’s one more body to him?
“Good girl,” he says, and something about the condescension in those two words makes me want to spit in his face.
But I don’t. Because I’m not stupid, and I’m not going to get my father killed just to prove a point about my dignity.
Leo hauls me through the doors and sunlight hits my face, bright and warm and absolutely incongruous with what’s happening.
It’s a beautiful June afternoon, perfect for a wedding, and there are people on the street stopping to stare at the scene unfolding on the cathedral steps.