Emma stares right back, unflinching, and sits back down in her own chair like she’s claiming territory.
“I can tell you don’t like me,” Emma says finally, her face neutral. “So why don’t you just say it with your full chest instead of dancing around it with passive-aggressive comments?”
My eyes widen and it takes everything in me to keep my mouth from dropping.
“Fine.” Valentina tosses her head and leans forward, her gaze nasty. “I don’t like you. I don’t like that you’re here. I don’t like that my brother kidnapped you in the first place because it’s fucking stupid and puts our entire family at risk.” She turns her head and gives me a venomous glare before returning her focus to Emma. “I don’t like that my mother came home from visiting you talking about how ‘impressive’ you are like you’re someone to goddamn admire instead of Connor Brennan’s fucking daughter. And Iespeciallydon’t like that my brother looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.”
My head snaps toward Emma before I can stop myself, and I catch her cheeks flushing before she looks away.
“I don’t like being here,” Emma says, recovering quickly, leaning forward in her chair. “I don’t like being used as a weapon in your family’s vendetta. I don’t like that I can’t see my mother or contact anyone I care about. I don’t like that every choice I make is monitored and controlled.” She glares at my sister. “And I especially don’t like being blamed for things I had no part in by someone who’s decided to hate me on principle.”
“I haven’t decided anything on principle,” Valentina says coldly. “I’ve decided based on facts. Your father murdered my brother. That makes you the enemy.”
“No, that makes myfatherthe enemy,” Emma corrects. “I’m just the convenient target because your brother needed someone to hurt and I was accessible.”
“You’re more than that,” Valentina says, and there’s something knowing in her voice that makes me suddenly uncomfortable. “If you were just a target, Leo would have locked you in a room and left you there.” She smirks at Emma. “But he didn’t, did he? He gave you access to the house. He has dinner with you every night. He talks to you. He?—”
“That’s enough,” I cut in, my voice harder than I intend.
Valentina ignores me completely. “Tell me, Emma,” she says lightly but the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I know that tone. “What do you talk about at these dinners? What does my brother say to you when he thinks no one else is listening?”
“We talk about books,” Emma says coolly. “And art and architecture and things that have nothing to do with kidnapping or revenge or your brother’s vendetta.”
“How nice,” Valentina says sarcastically. “How very civilized.” She trails her fingers on the arm of her chair. “And while you’re having these lovely intellectual conversations, does my brother tell you about Gabriel? About how he found out our brother was dead? About the nightmares he had for months afterward?”
My heart stops and I stand straight up. Emma’s expression falters slightly. “He…he’s mentioned Gabriel.”
Valentina’s face tightens. “Has he mentioned that he was the one who found the body?” My sister presses, and I feel my chest tighten. “That he walked into that warehouse looking for our brother and found him already gone?”
“Val,” I say, my voice rough. This is too much information. “Stop.”
“Why?” Valentina turns to me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Why should I stop? She should know what her father did. She should know what you went through. What weallwent through.”
“She knows,” I say quietly, fighting the emotion in my voice. “She knows enough.”
Valentina looks back at Emma, studying her face. “You really didn’t know, did you? About any of this.”
“No,” Emma says, and her voice is smaller now, less combative. Her face is pale. “I knew my father killed Leo’s brother. I didn’t know…the details.”
The fight seems to drain out of Valentina slightly, though she’s still tense and guarded. “Gabriel wanted to be a chef,” she says, almost conversationally. “Did Leo tell you that?”
Emma’s eyes dart to me briefly as if she’s not sure about this change in topic. “Yes.”
“He was good at it too. Made the best carbonara I’ve ever had.” Valentina’s voice cracks slightly. “He was supposed to open a restaurant. He had plans, dreams, a whole life ahead of him. And your father took it all away in one second because of some stupid territorial dispute that no one even remembers anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma says, and she sounds like she means it. “I’m so sorry that happened. I’m sorry you lost your brother. I’m sorry my father is the reason why.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring him back,” Valentina snarls, but there’s less venom in it now and more voice wobbling from unshed tears.
“No,” Emma agrees, her own eyes bright. “It doesn’t. But it’s all I can offer. I didn’t kill Gabriel. I didn’t want this war between our families. I’m just…” She glances at me again and I flush. “I’m caught in the middle of something I never asked to be part of.”
Valentina studies Emma for a long moment, and I can see her reassessing, recalculating.
“You threw a fork at Leo’s head,” Valentina says abruptly.
Emma blinks at the subject change and even I have whiplash. “Come again?”
“My mother told me. She said you threw a fork at his head. Did it hit him?”