Chapter 9 #2
“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. “I should hate him. I want to 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 not that young,” 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 is that?” 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 has created. And you, Emma Brennan, must decide what you truly want when that time comes.”
“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…approving of 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.