Chapter 2 #2
They’re not just green, but this intense, clear green that reminds me of sea glass, and right now they’re absolutely blazing with hatred.
Her pupils are dilated from adrenaline and her lashes are clumped with mascara starting to run from tears she’s furiously holding back.
There’s something about the combination of beauty and absolute rage that I find—
Stop it. This isn’t about her.
But Jee-sus, she’s putting up more of a fight than I expected.
I’d thought Connor would have trained that rebellious streak out of her and made her compliant and obedient like most mob daughters are raised to be.
Seen but not heard.
Decorative but not difficult.
Clearly, I thought wrong.
“Let. Me. Go.” Emma punctuates each word with another attempt to wrench free, her whole body twisting.
The wedding dress makes it awkward, but she doesn’t let that stop her.
I don’t let go.
Instead, I take great satisfaction in saying, very calmly, “No.”
That single word seems to do something to her.
I watch the change happen—the way her eyes go even wider and her breath catches.
Her expression shifts from pure rage to something that might be desperation or the first real understanding of how fucked her situation is.
“No?” she repeats, and her voice cracks. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean exactly what I said. No. I’m not letting you go.
Not now, not when we get where we’re going, not until I decide your father has suffered enough for what he did to my family.
” I watch her process this. “So I suggest you get comfortable, princess, because you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together.”
For a moment, she just stares.
Then her expression crumples and I think she might cry, which would honestly be easier to deal with than the fighting.
But Emma doesn’t cry.
Instead, she slumps back against the seat, breathing hard, and her free hand comes up to wipe at the mascara smudging beneath her eyes.
Her veil is askew, hanging off to one side, and strands of dark auburn hair are falling loose.
The carefully applied makeup is running, her lipstick smeared, and the pristine white dress is already getting dirty.
She looks wrecked, but it’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I hate myself a little for noticing.
This isn’t about Emma Brennan and her sea-glass eyes and her creative threats.
This isn’t about the fact that she hit and scratched my face twice and I’m oddly impressed, or that she nearly kneed me in the cathedral and I barely dodged it.
This is about revenge.
Pure and simple.
This is about making Connor Brennan understand what it’s like to lose someone.
This is about Gabriel.
But looking at Emma now, slumped against the seat with her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
Not in taking her—Connor deserves this—but in assuming she’d be an easy captive.
A passive victim.
Emma Brennan is clearly going to be a complication.
“I want to call my mother,” she says suddenly, her voice hoarse. She’s not looking at me anymore but staring at the back of the driver’s seat. “She has a heart condition. The stress of this could—”
“No phone calls.” I cut her off before she can finish the emotional manipulation. Nice try, though. “Not to your mother, not to your father, not to anyone.”
“She could have a heart attack!” Emma’s head whips around and there’s real fear in her eyes now. “You don’t understand, she—”
“I understand that you’ll say anything to try to get leverage.” I release her wrist and sit back, putting a few inches of distance between us. “Your mother will be fine. Connor will make sure of it.”
Emma’s jaw clenches and I can see her biting back whatever she wants to say.
My driver takes a corner fast enough that Emma has to grab the door handle.
We’re heading north out of Manhattan, taking side streets and doubling back to make sure we’re not followed.
By the time Connor figures out which way we went, we’ll be at the safe house.
“Where are you taking me?” Emma asks quietly.
The fight seems to have drained out of her, at least temporarily, and she’s back to that careful composure I saw in the cathedral.
The mask.
Emma Brennan, mob princess, doing what she was trained to do.
“Somewhere safe.”
She scowls. “That’s not an answer.”
I shrug. “It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
She turns to look at me and there’s something calculating in her expression now.
She’s trying to figure me out and find a weakness.
I recognize that look.
I’ve seen it on every negotiator and rival I’ve faced.
“Look,” she starts, her voice shifting to something softer, more reasonable.
Almost pleading. “I understand you’re angry.
Whatever happened between you and my father, I get that you’re upset.
But I had nothing to do with it. I don’t even—I don’t know what your issue with my father is. I stay out of his business.”
Ooh, the innocent approach.
Classic.
And predictable.
“Noted,” I say, keeping my expression neutral.
She blinks, thrown, then plows ahead. “So there’s no reason to keep me. I’m not part of whatever dispute you have with my father. I’m just—I’m nobody. I’m not important to his business dealings.”
“You’re his daughter,” I point out. “That makes you very important.”
“But I don’t know anything!” She leans forward, her green eyes wide and earnest. I fight a smirk. Now we’re doing the damsel in distress routine. “I can’t give you information. I can’t help you with whatever you’re planning. I’m useless to you as leverage because my father—”
“Your father will burn down half of New York to get you back,” I interrupt, and I can’t help the satisfaction in my voice. “Which means you’re extremely useful to me. But nice try with the ‘I’m nobody’ angle. It was almost convincing.”
Her jaw clenches again and frustration flashes across her face before she smooths it away. She’s not used to people seeing through her.
“I need to call my mother,” she tries again. “She’ll be worried sick. She has a heart condition—”
Back to the heart excuse. “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“You don’t understand, she—”
“Still no,” I say smoothly.
Emma’s composure cracks. “You can’t just keep saying no! I need to let her know I’m alive! She could have a heart attack from the stress!”