21. Emma
TWENTY-ONE
Emma
He steps out of his car, his eyes blazing with a mix of shock and anger as he points a gun straight at me. I wince, expecting him to shoot me but instead he starts yelling.
“Emma! What the hell are you doing? I could have killed you!” His voice is sharp, echoing off the quiet suburban homes lining the street.
“I had to see you,” I reply. “I got to yours but Alex said you’d already left. Where are you going?”
“Airport.”
“That’s the other way. Where are you really going?”
He says nothing, just stares at me as he holsters his gun.
“Still keeping secrets from me.” I take a step toward him. “I heard about what you did for my dad.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “You shouldn’t be here, Emma. After everything, this isn’t safe—for either of us.”
“I thought you were just a violent mafia asshole,” I throw back at him, the words harsher than intended. “But you saved him. You’re building the park.”
He looks away, his jaw clenching. “I did what I thought was right. That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I press, needing to understand his silence, his choices. “You told me about helping Amelia. Why nothing else?”
He meets my gaze, his eyes intense. “You said you didn’t want to see me anymore. What was I supposed to do? Hold your father’s well-being over your head to persuade you to stay? If you wanted to stay, you would have done, not because of what I did but because of who I am.”
“But you did all that despite us not being together. That shows you're capable of being a good person, of caring about others.” I take another step closer to him, driven by a sudden impulse to bridge the gap between us. “You listened to me and stayed away. You helped my sister. Helped my father. You aren’t the man you think you are. You’re not a monster.”
He sighs, the sound heavy with a mix of resignation and something else—pain, maybe. “What are you saying?” he asks suddenly, his voice softening.
“For a man who just completed a billion dollar deal, you can be pretty dumb.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m saying that I want to be with you.”
“You don’t. I would be too controlling.”
“You respected every decision I made, you stayed away when I asked you to. You aren’t too controlling. You just think you are.” I walk up to him, close enough to see the pain in his eyes. “You did the right thing because you know it’s the right thing. There’s a heart in there, capable of great things.”
The initial fury in his expression has melted away to something softer, vulnerable even. I close the gap, reaching out to wrap my arms around him. He hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, his arms strong around me.
We pull back slightly, just enough to see each other's faces. I lean in and we kiss, a gentle, affirming connection that seals our newfound understanding and forgiveness. It's a kiss that speaks of possibilities, of hope, and of a love that, despite everything, refuses to be extinguished.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, seeing the sorrow in my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Dad’s in hospital,” I reply, the words heavy on my tongue. “He got Petrovitch to confess that he ordered the hit on your parents.”
“I know. He sent me the recording. I wanted to thank him. Did they hurt him?”
“Tried to get him to give up the encryption key but he refused. Beat him real good but he’s going to make it.”
He sighs, his hands clasped tightly together. “I tried to talk him out of it. Your father was determined, said he was doing it with or without my help. I told him to stay away from Petrovitch. I guess he’s as stubborn as you are.”
I look at him and see the lines of strain around his eyes, the slight gray at his temples that I never noticed before. This man who has done so much, borne so much, all out of a tangled sense of duty and love.
“I want to make Petrovitch pay,” I say softly, my hands clenched in my lap. “For everything he’s done—to you, to my dad. To all of us.”
“I’m on my way to do that right now.”
“You are? But Alex said–“
“I might not come out of this alive.” He reaches out, his hand covering mine, unclenching my fists. “It’s dangerous,” he warns, his voice low. “And it could end very badly. It’s better if you go home, stay out of this.”
“What’s the plan?” I ask. “If you can’t trust anyone else, trust your wife. Maybe I can help.”
This is his moment of decision. Let go of total control and accept my help, be the man I know he can be. Or tell me to go fuck myself, shut down, keep heading down the path that ends with him alone. Or a corpse.
“Well?” I ask as he continues to stare at me, his brow furrowed. “What’s it going to be?”