22. Elena #2
He takes another sip of whiskey, his expression unreadable. "You've fallen in love with him."
It's not a question. I don't bother denying it.
"How touching." He sets his glass down on the desk and leans against the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you came here to tell me this because you thought I'd do what? Release you from your obligation? Give you my blessing to live happily ever after with the Irish upstart?"
"I came here to tell you that I can't be part of this anymore." My voice is steady, even though my hands are shaking. "I won't kill him. I won't help you destroy him. If you want him dead, you'll have to find another way."
He laughs, genuinely amused. "Oh, Elena. My sweet, naive daughter. You think you have a choice in this?"
My stomach drops. "What?"
"You've already played your part perfectly.
" He moves back around the desk and sits down, picking up his whiskey again.
"Better than I could have hoped, actually. The kidnapping was supposed to kill him, quick, clean, no connection back to us. I thought he’d follow you out and the men would take care of him, and then bring him back here.
But when that failed, I realized we had something even better. "
"I don't understand—"
"You're the bait, Elena." He says it so casually, like he's discussing the weather. "You're sitting here, in my house, and your husband knows it. Or he will soon enough, once his men realize you've left the penthouse. And when he finds out you're here, what do you think he's going to do?"
I flinch, realizing all at once how neatly I’ve walked into his trap. "No."
"He's going to come for you." My father leans forward, his eyes gleaming.
"Because he's insecure and desperate to prove himself.
He can't afford to look weak in front of his organization by letting his wife be taken and doing nothing about it.
He'll come here, and when he does, we'll be ready.
We'll kill him, take his territories, and absorb his businesses.
Everything he's built will become ours."
"You can't—" My voice breaks. "Papa, please. He's my husband. I love him."
"Love." He says the word like it's something distasteful. "Love is a weakness, Elena. I thought I'd taught you that. Your mother loved me, and look where it got her. Dead in childbirth, leaving me with a daughter who's too soft to do what needs to be done."
The cruelty of it steals my breath. I stare at him, this man who raised me, who taught me everything I know about this world, and I don't recognize him.
Or maybe I do. Maybe I've always known what he was, and I just didn't want to see it.
"You're using me," I whisper. "You've been using me this entire time. "
"Of course I have." He finishes his whiskey and sets the glass down with a soft click. "You're a tool, Elena. A very effective one. And now you're going to stay here, in this house, until your husband comes for you. And when he does, we'll end this once and for all."
"I won't let you—"
"You don't have a choice." He stands and moves to the door, opening it. Two of his men are standing in the hallway, waiting. "Escort my daughter to her room. Make sure she stays there. Post guards outside the door. She's not to leave or communicate with anyone. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
I stand, my legs shaking. "Papa, please. Don't do this."
He doesn't even look at me. "Take her upstairs."
The men move into the room, and I know there's no point in fighting. I let them guide me out of the office and up the stairs to my old bedroom. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I hear the lock turn. I'm trapped.
I move to the window and look out at the estate grounds, my vision blurring with tears. This is my fault. All of it. I brought Declan into this. I made him care about me. I made him vulnerable. And now my father is going to use that vulnerability to kill him.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my hands pressed to my face, trying to breathe through the panic rising in my chest. I need to think, figure out a way to warn Declan, to tell him not to come, to make him understand that this is a trap.
But I don't have my phone—my purse is still in my father’s office.
I don't have any way to contact him. I'm completely cut off.
The hours pass slowly. I pace the room, trying to find a way out, but the window is too high to jump from, and the door is locked from the outside. I can hear the guards talking in low voices in the hallway, their presence a constant reminder that I'm a prisoner in my own family's home.
As the afternoon fades into evening, I sit on the bed and let myself think about Declan.
About the way he looked at me in the diner, his guard down for the first time, with that genuine smile on his face.
How he laid bare his fears that night after the warehouse attack.
He was patient with me. He tried to be a good husband.
He saw his failings and apologized, and did better.
He cared more about my comfort than his own pleasure.
And I love him.
I know I do. Not because he's powerful or dangerous or because he can protect me. I love him because he's honest, and because he's trying so hard to be good at something he was never meant for. Because he was good to me, and we had a future together. And I've destroyed it. I've destroyed us.
I wish I could go back and tell him the truth from the beginning, explain that I was trapped, that I didn't know how to choose between my family and him, that I was terrified of what would happen if I refused my father's orders. But I can’t, and now I'm locked in this room, and he's out there somewhere, probably getting ready to come for me.
Probably walking straight into my father's trap.
The thought makes me sick.
I move to the window again and press my forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the darkening sky.
Somewhere out there, Declan is making a decision.
He's choosing whether to come for me or to let me go.
Whether to risk everything to save a wife who betrayed him, or to cut his losses and move on.
I hope he doesn't come. I hope he's smart enough to see this for what it is—a trap designed to exploit his insecurities and his need to prove himself.
I hope he stays away and lets me face the consequences of my choices alone.
But I also hope he does, because if he doesn't, I'll never get the chance to tell him the truth. I'll never get to explain. I'll never get to say I'm sorry, or that I love him, or that I wish I'd been brave enough to choose him from the start.
I'll never get to see if we could have been something real.