Chapter 6 #3
“As long as what takes, Leo?” Dante’s patience is clearly wearing thin, his voice rising slightly. “You’ve made your point. Connor suffered. He’s terrified for his daughter. Mission accomplished. Now what?”
“Now he learns that actions have consequences.” The words sound hollow even to me, but I don’t know what else to say. “He learns what it’s like to lose someone.”
“What it’s like to lose some—so you’re keeping her indefinitely?” Dante looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, his frustration finally showing. “That’s your plan? Keep Emma Brennan locked in a bedroom while Connor builds an army and eventually does succeed in burning this place down?”
“I don’t know!” I shout as I stand up, ignoring the pain in my side. “I don’t know what the plan is, Dante. I just know I can’t let her go. Not yet.”
“Why not?” He’s not backing down, standing there with his arms crossed and his jaw set.
Because my mother is right—letting Emma go means admitting this was all a mistake.
Gabriel would be disappointed in what I’ve become.
Because the moment I let Emma walk out of here, Connor wins.
I’m not ready to face the fact that revenge doesn’t feel like I thought it would.
“Because Connor needs to suffer more,” I finally say, knowing it’s weak.
Dante looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the disappointment in his eyes. It’s the same look I could almost see my mother had when I spoke to her.
“I hope you figure out what you’re really doing here,” he says quietly, his voice tired. “Before this situation becomes even more complicated than it already is.”
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him, and I’m alone with my whiskey and my anger.
I pull up the security feed on my monitor, wanting to check to make sure Emma’s secure after the attack.
Knowing her, she’s probably plotting to escape through the damaged wall.
The camera feed is crystal clear.
It’s one of the best surveillance systems money can buy, and right now it shows Emma in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her dark auburn hair spread across the white pillowcase.
She’s asleep.
Good.
That means she’s not panicking or trying something stupid. A sleeping captive is easier to manage than one who’s awake and plotting.
I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand is curled under her cheek.
There are dried tear tracks on her face and part of me registers that she cried herself to sleep.
Not my problem.
She’s Connor Brennan’s daughter.
She’s supposed to be suffering.
That’s the whole point of this.
Except the point was supposed to be making Connor suffer, not watching a twenty-four-year-old woman cry alone in a locked room because her father’s rescue attempt failed.
I finish my whiskey and pour another, feeling the burn.
The Corsican involvement bothers me.
Two million dollars is serious money, the kind of money that means someone has bigger plans than just facilitating Connor’s revenge.
And if someone’s manipulating this situation, keeping the conflict going deliberately, then Emma is in more danger than just being caught between two families at war.
Which means she’s safer here where I control the variables and I know exactly who has access to her and who’s guarding her door.
It’s strategic.
That’s all.
Keeping Emma here isn’t about her, it’s about maintaining control of the situation until I figure out what the Corsicans want and who else might be involved.
I review the security footage from the attack again, freeze-framing specific moments in my mind.
Connor’s men knew where to breach, and where the guard posts were.
But if they had such good intelligence, why didn’t it work better?
We’re good, but we’re not that good.
Connor should have at least made it to the house.
Unless Zima gave him incomplete information on purpose.
Unless someone wanted the attack to fail just enough to keep both families angry and engaged.
The thought solidifies into certainty.
Someone’s playing us.
Both of us.
And until I know who and why, Emma stays exactly where she is.
On the monitor, Emma shifts in her sleep, turning toward the camera.
Even through the monitor, she just looks like what she is—a woman who’s been through hell because of choices other people made.
My mother’s voice echoes: When did my son become the kind of man who kidnaps women?
I should feel guilty, but I don’t.
Or at least, I’m not letting myself.
Emma Brennan is staying right where she is.
For her own safety, whether she believes that or not.
Someone betrayed me and someone’s manipulating this conflict and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hand her over to whoever’s really behind this mess until I understand what game they’re playing.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I close the security feed and pour a third whiskey.
The truth is probably more complicated, but I’m too tired and too angry to examine it right now.
Tomorrow I’ll find out more about the Corsicans and figure out who’s really behind Zima’s betrayal.
Tonight, I just need Emma to stay in that room where she’s safe and Connor to stay the hell away from my property.
Everything else can wait.