Extended Epilogue
Valentina
I watch my brother dance with his wife and tell myself I’m happy for them.
I am. Mostly.
Leo holds Emma like she’s the most sacred thing in the world, one hand on her back, the other resting protectively on her swollen belly where my niece is currently making her presence known with what looks like some impressive kicks.
Emma’s laughing at something Leo just said, her head thrown back, her face glowing with happiness and pure, unfiltered joy.
They look disgustingly in love. And it’s the kind of in love that makes everyone around them either swoon or feel sick with envy.
Leo’s smiling and it’s not the cold smirk he usually wears in public. His eyes are soft as he looks at Emma, tracking every expression that crosses her face like he’s memorizing them.
His thumb strokes across her belly and Emma places her hand over his, both of them sharing this private moment in the middle of the reception.
I toss the rest of my champagne back and put my glass down on a nearby table.
Their love is nauseating.
It’s also beautiful and everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought my brother would have.
Eight months ago, Leo was a cold, ruthless bastard who cared about nothing except revenge and the family business.
Now he’s dancing with the woman he kidnapped, who somehow fell in love with him anyway, who’s carrying his child, who just became his wife.
Pigs are truly flying.
Emma’s made him human again, something I never thought would happen after Gabriel’s death.
I pegged it the moment I met Emma when I came over uninvited.
He looked at her like she hung the goddamn moon and stars.
And he had the gall to deny how he felt about her too.
A smirk plays at my lips at the memory of his horrified face when I outright told him that he had a thing for Emma.
I love being right.
But Emma is good for him and watching them together—watching Leo be happy and in love and building this perfect little family—makes my own life feel hollow and empty.
It feels like I’m standing on the outside looking in at something I’ll never have.
At twenty-six, I’m still hopelessly single and living in my mother’s house.
I wince and wish I had something stronger.
I’m still under my family’s fucking thumb, playing the role of dutiful Santoro princess, attending functions I hate, and making small talk with men who see me as either a potential alliance or a conquest.
I’m still waiting for something to change, but nothing changes when you’re the second child in the Santoro family.
I pluck another champagne flute from a passing waiter and study the bubbling liquid.
God, I hate getting champagne drunk, but it seems like it’s going to be the only way to get through the rest of this evening.
Mamma will be relentless in her pursuit for a groom for me.
She’s married off her most prickly child, so now her attentions will now be on me.
Fuck my life.
The song ends and Leo leans down to kiss Emma’s forehead, murmuring something that makes her laugh again.
They’re perfect together.
Annoyingly perfect.
I take a sip of my drink and scan the reception room, watching the guests out of habit.
Santoro cousins are clustered near the bar and Leo’s men scattered throughout, even off-duty they’re still keeping watch.
Emma’s sparse group of family looks uncomfortable and out of place.
The Brennan contingent is small—just Emma’s mother and a few cousins brave enough to defy Connor’s orders.
The big man himself refused to show, which Emma is trying very hard to pretend doesn’t hurt.
I’m about to head to the bar for a refill when the door opens and someone new walks in.
Someone who definitely wasn’t on the guest list.
The change in the room is immediate.
Conversations falter.
People turn to look.
And most tellingly, Leo’s head snaps up from where he’s been murmuring something to Emma, his entire body going tense.
Emma turns to see what caught Leo’s attention and her face lights up. “Cillian!”
She starts toward the door, waddling slightly with her pregnant belly, and Leo warily follows close behind, one hand on her back.
I watch the man—Cillian Brennan, I realize, Emma’s cousin who she’s mentioned before as one of the few family members she actually likes—cross the room to meet them.
He’s tall. Easily over six feet, with broad shoulders that fill out his dark suit.
His hair catches the light as he moves and it’s similar in color to Emma’s—reddish-gold, like burnished copper, styled back from his face in a way that shows off sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass.
But it’s his eyes that make me take notice.
Ice blue eyes as cold as a winter sky and they’re currently scanning the room with the practiced assessment of someone who’s been trained to catalog threats and exits before he even thinks about relaxing.
Emma reaches him and he bends to kiss her cheek, murmuring something that makes her smile.
But his eyes are on Leo, and there’s tension in the line of his shoulders that suggests this isn’t just a friendly family visit.
Leo says something—too quiet for me to hear from here—and Cillian’s response is equally low.
But I can see Emma’s face fall slightly, and Leo looks pissed.
Whatever Cillian’s here for, it’s not to celebrate.
After a moment, Cillian’s ice-blue gaze sweeps the room again and lands directly on me.
And holds.
I don’t look away. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Instead, I meet his stare with one of my own, lifting my champagne glass slightly in a mocking salute.
His eyes narrow slightly and he starts walking toward me with purpose.
People step aside for him automatically, some instinct or recognition telling them to get out of his way.
He moves like a predator, like someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is and doesn’t particularly care who else knows it too.
The heir apparent to the Irish mob doesn’t scare me.
I know he was invited to the wedding and he gave a bullshit excuse about not coming.
I wonder why he’s here now and why he’s heading my way.
Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
I square my shoulders and give him my best bored look as he approaches.
He stops in front of me and he’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes.
Up close, he’s even more intimidating.
There’s a scar cutting through his right cheek, barely visible but there.
I bet it would look like a dimple but I don’t think this man knows how to smile.
His jaw is sharp and clean shaven, and those ice-blue eyes sweep over me—from head to toe and back again—in a slow, deliberate assessment that makes my skin prickle.
His lip curls slightly and I have to stamp down irritation.
Has he found me wanting?
The dismissal in that look makes fury spike hot and vicious in my chest.
“Valentina Santoro?” His voice is deep, rough around the edges, with a subtle Irish accent that would probably be attractive if I didn’t want to punch him in his perfect face.
“That’s me.” I keep my voice cool, even though I want to throw my champagne in his face for that look. “And you’re Cillian Brennan. Emma’s favorite cousin, if I remember correctly.”
“Was,” he responds, his jaw ticking. “Past tense, especially given that she chose to marry the man who kidnapped her.”
“Careful, Brennan,” I say coldly. “You’re in a room full of Santoros. Insulting my brother and his wife at their wedding reception is a good way to end up with a bullet in your skull.”
Those ice-blue eyes look almost…amused? Seriously? “Is that a threat, princess?”
“It’s a promise,” I respond sweetly. “Though I suppose you Brennans wouldn’t know the difference. You’re more used to making empty threats than following through on them.”
His eyes flash dangerously. “Really? Because last I checked, it was a Brennan who nearly brought your entire organization to its knees six months ago.” He smirks at me, folding his arms across his chest. “Your brother got lucky. It won’t happen twice.”
“Lucky?” I laugh, and it’s not a nice sound. “Is that what you call it? Connor crawled away with his tail between his legs and had to negotiate peace because he lost. Leo won. Emma chose us. Your family lost everything.”
“We lost a traitor,” Cillian says flatly. “That’s not exactly a tragedy.”
For a moment, I see red because he just called Emma—sweet, fierce, loving Emma who made my brother happy and is someone I consider a friend—a traitor. Not on my fucking watch.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snap, all pretense of civility gone. “Or I’ll watch it for you. Permanently.”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other.
The tension between us is thick enough to cut, charged with mutual dislike and the weight of our family names.
Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cream-colored envelope that’s sealed with red wax bearing the Brennan family crest.
“From Connor,” he says, holding it out to me with the tips of his fingers as if he doesn’t even want to touch my hands.
My heart stutters in my chest.
What does Connor want with me?
I take the envelope and it’s heavy.
I swallow.
Whatever’s inside, I’m not going to like it.
I break the seal and pull out the letter, my eyes scanning the words quickly.
Then slower.
Then again, because I can’t possibly be reading this correctly.
But I am.
Is this a fucking joke?
It’s a proposal, but not the romantic kind that comes with flowers and a bent knee and declarations of love.
It’s a business proposal. A marriage alliance.
Me to Cillian Brennan, sealing the peace between our families once and for all and ensuring the truce holds.
Binding Santoro and Brennan together through blood and marriage and the children we’d be expected to produce.
I…what? Am I being Punk’d?
I look up at Cillian, searching his face for any reaction.
Is he in on this?
Did he know?
Is this why he’s really here?
He’s stone-faced and unreadable.
But there’s something in his eyes that looks like fury or resignation or even both.
“Did you know about this?” I hiss out, unsure how I’m still breathing.
“I found out this morning.” His jaw clenches. “Connor handed me the letter at breakfast and said he was sending a copy to you tonight.”