“I want to go home,” I say firmly. “That’s what I want.”
“Do you?” Gianna asks, looking unconvinced. “Well. We shall see.”
“What—”
“I find I do not entirely disapprove of you, Emma Brennan,” she continues, business-like. “You have strength and intelligence and fire. Under different circumstances…” She trails off, shaking her head. “But circumstances are what they are.”
With that cryptic statement, she sweeps out of the room as dramatically as she entered, leaving me standing in the library feeling like I’ve just been interrogated by someone who knows far more than she’s saying.
I stand there for at least five minutes after she leaves, trying to process what just happened.
Gianna’s visit raised more questions than it answered.
What did she mean about me deciding what I truly want?
What different circumstances was she talking about?
Why did she seem almost…approvingof me, despite the fact that I’m her son’s kidnapping victim?
And why do I have the uncomfortable feeling that she was testing me for something I don’t understand?
I shake my head, trying to clear it of Gianna’s cryptic observations and penetrating questions.
It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me or what she’s testing me for.
All that matters is finding a way out of here.
That evening at dinner, Leo mentions his mother’s visit.
“She said you impressed her,” he says casually, cutting into his chicken like this is normal dinner conversation and not completely bizarre.
I nearly drop my fork, staring at him in disbelief. “She what?”
“Impressed her,” Leo repeats with what sounds like amusement. “My mother doesn’t impress easily. She said you have spine.” He takes a bite of his food and looks at me thoughtfully. “What did you say to her?”
“I told her you were an asshole,” I say bluntly, still trying to process this information. “To her face. And she just…agreed with me?”
“That sounds like Mamma.” Leo’s lips twitch into what might almost be a smile, and there’s fondness in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “She’s never been one for false flattery or pretending things are different than they are. If she thinks I’m being an asshole, she’ll say so. Usually very loudly.”
My own mother comes to mind with her practiced smiles and careful composure, how she never says what she really thinks, especially not about my father. The way she teaches me to be polite and deferential and never make waves.
The contrast makes me miss her so much it physically hurts.
“Does she know?” I need to change the subject before I start crying. “About the attack? That my father tried to rescue me?”
Leo’s expression darkens immediately, the brief moment of lightness evaporating. “She knows. She’s worried that someone inside the organization can’t be trusted, that the betrayal goes deeper than just the traitor.”
“Have you found anything else?” I shouldn’t be curious about who betrayed him or why, but I am. Because whoever betrayed him helped my father, and maybe they could help me too.
“Dead ends,” Leo says, frustration evident in his voice. “Every lead with the Corsicans goes nowhere. It’s like whoever set this up knew exactly how to cover their tracks.”
The Corsicans. That’s new information, though I don’t know what to do with it. I file it away in my mental map of things I’ve learned, things that might be useful later.
I need to change the subject again. The conversation is getting too heavy and I don’t want to think about my father or betrayals or the fact that I’m still trapped here with no idea when or if I’ll ever get out.
“Tell me about Gabriel,” I hear myself say and immediately regret it when Leo goes completely still, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Why?” he asks sharply, his walls firmly in place.