I take a moment to think about my answer.
“I think,” I say slowly and carefully, feeling like I’m walking through a minefield, “that your son is complicated. I think he’s done terrible things for what he believes are good reasons. I think he’s capable of both cruelty and kindness. I think he’s…” I struggle to find the right words. “Conflicted. About this whole situation.”
“Conflicted,” Gianna repeats, and her expression softens slightly. “Yes. That is a very diplomatic answer. But what do you feel about him, Emma? Not what you think you should feel, not what makes logical sense, but what you actually feel?”
“I don’t—” I stop, unable to finish that lie. “I’m…confused,” I finally admit, unsure why I’m admitting this to Leo’s mother. “Ishouldhate him. Iwantto hate him. But he’s not…” I trail off helplessly, not sure how to finish.
“Not the monster you expected,” Gianna finishes for me, her voice gentle.
“No,” I agree quietly, feeling strangely vulnerable. “Not always.”
Gianna studies me for another long moment then nods as if I’ve confirmed something she suspected.
“You are younger than I expected,” she says, changing direction again. “Twenty-four is very young to be caught in the middle of old men’s wars.”
“I’m notthatyoung,” I defend automatically, even though compared to her I probably seem like a child.
“My Leonardo is thirty-five,” Gianna says, watching me carefully. “Eleven years is not so much when you are older, but at your ages…” She trails off meaningfully.
“I’m aware of the age difference.” My cheeks heat. “Not that it matters since I’m his prisoner, not his—” I stop myself before I say something I can’t take back.
“Not his what?” Gianna asks, one eyebrow raised in a gesture that’s painfully familiar because Leo does the exact same thing.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Hmm.” Gianna doesn’t push, but her expression suggests she heard everything I didn’t say. “Tell me, Emma, do you know what Gabriel would have thought of you?”
The question throws me. “I never met him,” I point out.
She waves her hand impatiently, like she’s batting a fly. “No, but if you had—if circumstances were different and you had met my youngest son—what do you think he would have seen in you?”
What kind of question is that? I don’t understand where she’s going with this. “I don’t know. I have no idea.”
“He would have liked you,” Gianna says with certainty. “You have the fire he always wished he had. The strength to fight back instead of trying to make peace with everyone. Gabriel was too soft for this world. Too kind. You are not soft, Emma Brennan.”
I pause, unsure if she’s complimenting me or insulting me. It kind of feels like both. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” I admit.
“It is an observation,” Gianna replies. “And perhaps a warning.”
I look at her sharply, my hackles rising. “A warning about what?”
But Gianna just smiles mysteriously and stands up gracefully.
“I came here to see what kind of woman my son has brought into our home,” she says. “Now I have my answer.”
“And what answer isthat?” I ask, frustrated by her cryptic responses.
“That you are more than Connor Brennan’s daughter,” Gianna says. “And that is all I will say on the matter.”
She moves toward the door, then pauses and turns back.
“I do not approve of this kidnapping,” she says firmly. “It is reckless and stupid and will bring trouble to our family. Leonardo thinks he is honoring his brother’s memory, but Gabriel would hate this. He would hate that an innocent woman is suffering because of him.”
“Then make Leo let me go,” I plead, standing up. “If you don’t approve, if you think Gabriel would hate this, then convince your son to end it.”
Gianna looks at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“Some things must be decided by the people involved,” she says quietly. “Not by mothers who wish their sons would make better choices. Leonardo must find his own way out of this mess he hascreated. And you, Emma Brennan, must decide what you truly want when that time comes.”