Page 46 of Seduced By the Enemy

But she drew a blank, because where could she start? What could she say that wouldn’t be completely insufficient?

Handsome? Kind? Generous? Sincere? Wonderful? Perfect? Her other half?

She almost groaned out loud as the words floating though her mind jostled for space in her mouth. Yet none formed. She couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t say to Leandro what she hadn’t even been brave enough to tell Salvatore: how much he meant to her. How much she needed him in her life.

She’d thought it. She’d shown it. But she’d never said the words.

“Fuuuuck, Emme, this is absolute crap. You are—you should have known better. Where’s your bag?”

She blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Get your goddamn bag. We’re leaving.”

“Hey,” Salvatore’s voice cut through Leandro’s tirade like a whip. “You cannot order her around. She’s a grown woman, not a child.”

“Stay the hell out of this, Santoro. It’s a family matter.”

“No, it’s an Emilia matter. What does she want to do? Stay here, with me? Or go, with you?”

Both men looked at her and Emilia felt the whole world slipping. She looked from her beloved brother who had supported her through thick and through thin, with whom she had a billion wonderful memories and shared experiences. And then, she looked at Salvatore, who she now knew held the keys to her heart, and always would.

She wanted to stay with Salvatore. She wanted to get away from this fundraiser, and escape to the privacy of one of their apartments, or the hotel room at the Plaza. She wanted to climb back into the little bubble they’d made, exist there, inside, safe from the outside world, far away from anyone or anything that would tear them down. Travel to the ends of the earth, so long as Salvatore was with her. Maybe go back to the yacht? But would it be the same, now Leo knew?

She closed her eyes on a wave of desolation. How had they thought they could do this? How had they thought it was realistic to create a world that didn’t include their families—and violate everything those families would want for them.

“Get your bag, Emme.”

“Let her speak.” Salvatore’s voice was level enough, but Emilia heard something beneath it—an emotion she hated, because it sounded a lot like uncertainty. As though he didn’t know for sure that she’d choose him, a thousand times over, always.

“Don’t youdaretell me what to do,” Leandro returned harshly.

In the very back of her mind, the parts of her that were capable of any kind of thought, she knew that Salvatore was muting his first response. The part of him that would have run into this no holds barred was indeed holding back, respecting Emilia in that one simple choice by acknowledging that this was her family, and her fight. Even when he might have wanted to protect her, to shield her and absorb any blows Leandro would throw—metaphorically—he knew that she had to be a part of that response.

“Leo, listen,” she said, hating that her voice was so unsteady. Salvatore squeezed her hand, and she felt it in her core—the courage he was giving her, the unspoken, unwavering support. And even in that moment of sheer survival and panic, she was aware of the way her heart was tripping over, and stretching, to accommodate Salvatore’s presence in a way she wanted to keep forever. For always. “This isn’t the time or place?—,”

“Something you should have thought about before you came in here with him and did—Jesus Christ, Emilia. What the hell are you thinking? This is a Santoro. A goddamn Santoro.”

“I’m aware of that,” she murmured, at the same time Salvatore said, soft and low, “Watch it.”

Leandro turned to face Salvatore. “I told you: stop telling me what to do.”

“Then stop acting like such a jackass,” he growled. “Your sister’s right. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Did you seduce her to get back at us? Is that what this is?”

“Leandro,” Emilia’s voice was sharp. “This has nothing to do with you. And he didn’t seduce me.” She glanced at Salvatore, his face harsh, all angles and ruthless disgust. “It was mutual.”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“No, you don’t know what he’s like.”

“These people are—the worst of the worst.”

“I said, watch it,” Salvatore said, still measured and contained. But Leo was looking at Emilia with all the love and concern of an older brother—the older brother who would have run into a burning building if it would have saved her. The brother who had loved and adored her from birth, who had been at her back in every difficulty she’d faced in life. He was protecting her—or thought he was. And he was right. She did need protecting. But not from Salvatore, so much as the pain of loving someone she could never have.

“Am I wrong?” Leandro’s nostrils flared. “Or are you using my sister for sex?”

“How dare you!” Emilia shouted, drawn back to the present by his totally unreasonable accusation.

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