“Obsessed with cake,” I scoffed. “And you know she stole my car, right? That doesn’t make me possessive of it.”

Kellan laughed and threw himself on my couch with a bowl of chips. “Take that up with someone else. Not my jurisdiction.”

I grabbed a beer in the kitchen and joined him. The only good thing about not working at the moment was we could catch the football games from Europe on TV. Fucking time zones.

Patrick walked into my house with Alec and Nessa, informing us Pop would be here any minute.

“I don’t wanna go home, boss.” Alec planted himself next to me, looking uncharacteristically sour.

“You’ll be back in no time, cub.” I ruffled his hair.

I’d expected their stay to be longer, truth be told. When a territory was deemed unsafe, it wasn’t unheard of for the men to send their women and children on vacations that went on for weeks, if not months. Cleanup could take time.

According to Pop, it was mostly Uncle John’s paranoia this time. He’d sent the twins away to upgrade their security around the house, and now that was done.

All it’d accomplished for me was doubts. Did Uncle John trust us more and that was why he’d sent Alec and Nessa here, or was he up to something and wanted to make it look like he trusted us?

Additionally, without the twins around, my boredom was gonna kill me. We’d already repainted Ma’s “art studio” in all kinds of neon colors to see her reaction, and it would only get worse from there.

I’d also spend too much time thinking about Emilia. Kellan’s latest update on her wasn’t as satisfying as I’d thought. Maybe because she hadn’t stopped reporting to him based on a newfound loyalty to me, but because she was overwhelmed by everything. She’d legit told him she still hoped the Feds caught us.

“We gonna take bets or what?” Patrick grabbed a handful of chips and shoved them into his mouth.

“Why? We root for the same team,” I said.

Kellan cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I’m a Liverpool fan these days.”

I pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out. This is a United house. Your treason isn’t welcome here.”

The twins snickered while Patrick exclaimed, “That’s what I’m fuckin’ saying.”

“Treason,” Kellan snorted.

Un-fucking-believable. You thought you knew a guy… I hauled out my wallet. “Two hundred on United.”

“Oh! Can we play too?” Alec looked hopeful.

“No. I’ve heard you in church,” I told him. “When you learn how to repent, you can sin.”

The rest of us placed our bets, and the game started.

“That’s not how religion works, Finn,” Ness pointed out.

“Shh. Watch the game, doll.” I took a swig of my beer.

Pop joined us twenty minutes in. Life in Philly must’ve been hectic, ’cause we usually went to the same barber. He hadn’t been in a while, I could tell. His suit was nowhere to be seen either, and the lines around his eyes seemed more prominent.

He asked Kellan if he had any history with mental health issues upon hearing he was a Liverpool fan.

“That’s my dad.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Beer?”

“Just one. I’m driving. Cheers, son.”

One meant three, of course. I got up and filled a cooler with bottles and ice packs so I didn’t have to go twice.

At halftime, we had a bit more time to talk.

“What’s this I hear about Kellan pretending to be a Fed around Emilia?” Pop asked.

I shot Patrick a glare.

He smirked and shrugged.

“I’m being careful,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. She called it off with him today.”

Pop eyed Kellan. “Does she suspect anything?”

Kellan shook his head. “Nah. I’m a decent actor.” More like we all had experience with the FBI, though I was sure he’d broken protocol once or twice.

“Oh right, you used to do porn,” Patrick mentioned.

I laughed.

“The fuck I have,” Kellan spluttered. “Dick.”

“Is that—” Nessa was cut off by Alec, who whispered in her ear. Judging by her furious blush, her brother had told her way too much.

“All right, enough of that, lads.” Pop coughed into his fist to hide his laugh. “And, Finn, don’t tell your mother about the Feds. She already feels bad for the girls.”

“Noted.” I nodded with a dip of my chin and sat forward a bit. Next, I sent the twins a pointed look. “Youse didn’t hear any of this.”

Nessa shook her head, and Alec pretended to zip his mouth and throw away the key. They were pros. Sometimes I wondered how many secrets they kept.

“Furthermore, your mother and I didn’t send you to Aberdeen Grange for you to return speaking slang,” Pop told me.

Jesus fucking Christ. “Is Ma not putting out?”

“Aw, man.” Pat grimaced. “That’s my mom.”

I furrowed my brow. “I came out of the same v—”

“Oi! That’s enough.” Pop gave me a hard stare, only to deflate with a heavy sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. “How bored are you, son?”

“There’s no word in the English language, slang or otherwise, to describe it,” I replied.

He shook his head. “What happened to testing the small-town life?”

“I did that. The results aren’t looking very promising.” I was honest. I knew I’d said this might be good for me. But sometimes I was wrong. “I’ll be here until Emilia says yes, and then we’re gone.”

“Ma will be disappointed,” Patrick mused.

I lifted a shoulder. It was our parents who fantasized about country life. Their house here would be their primary home. While I’d be happy to visit on occasion for some downtime, or when I worked with Pop, I couldn’t imagine actually living here. If I had, I wouldn’t have settled for a small house like this one. Right now, my condo in the city was calling my name.

“When are you guys moving out here?” I asked Pop. They’d gone back and forth between dates a lot.

“Next week,” he replied firmly. “I still have a few patients in the city. I’ll commute a couple times a week, but everything else is ready.”

That was good. The less time he spent with his damn patients, the more time he could commit to making plans for the Maserati event in Italy this fall.

“Game’s starting.” Kellan nodded at the flat screen.

I returned my attention to the TV but remembered something. “Pop, did you pick up the things I asked you?”

“Aye, they’re in the car.”

Okay, good. I finished my beer and—my fucking phone rang. Christ, I just wanted to enjoy the game. Forget what I said. It was Emilia, and that was a first. And definitely welcome. Leaving the couch to get some privacy, I stepped out onto the patio and answered her call.

“Well, that’s new. The princess is calling me.”

One day, I’d have to tell her why I called her princess.

Her breathing was strained. “I’ll marry you.”

I grew rigid, instantly alert. She’d spoken the words I’d wanted to hear for weeks, but her irregular breathing put me on edge. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I… My chest hurts. Can—can you pick me up?”

I was already heading inside, and if she sounded any more panicky, I was gonna kill someone. “I’m on my way. Where are you? What happened?” I’d gotten the attention of pretty much everyone, and I nodded at the door to my brother.

“I thought he was gonna kill me,” Emilia whimpered. “I punched him, Finnegan.”

“Get to the cars, Pat.” I detoured quickly and ran up the stairs to get my piece. “Keep talking to me, princess. Are you safe now? Who tried to hurt you?” My gun was in the nightstand, and I tucked it into my jeans at the base of my spine.

“My dad.” She was cracking, and my fucking heart broke for her. At the same time, I was relieved it wasn’t someone else. Someone with affiliation. “I’m safe, I think. I’m on the sidewalk.”

“I want you to walk up the road,” I said, hurrying downstairs again. “Can you do that for me? I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I let out a whistle, and Kellan looked up. I covered the mouthpiece. “You can’t be here when I get back.”

He understood.

“It’s a twenty-minute d-drive, Finnegan.” Bloody hell, even freaking out and struggling to breathe, she wanted to correct me. I couldn’t wait to marry this little broad.

“You’re right, I’ll see you in five,” I said. Without telling the others what was going on, I left the house after stealing Pop’s car keys off the hallway table. “Stay on the line with me, Emilia. I need you to breathe.”

I threw the keys to Pop’s Jag to Pat. It would take him to town a hell of a lot quicker than dragging on in his Jeep. “Drive to Emilia’s,” I told him, getting into my own car.

“Why does it hurt?” Emilia groaned between gasps. “I swear his hands are-are still around my n-neck.”

“Motherfucker,” I spat. As soon as the gates opened, I floored it and connected the call to Bluetooth so I didn’t have to hold my phone. White-hot rage flooded me at the thought of her being hurt.

It’s probably your fucking fault.

I clenched my jaw.

Jonathan Porter was a dead man. If there was one thing more important than money to him, it was that Emilia didn’t learn the truth about her mother. He’d pitched a fit when we visited him, saying I was going back on my word, but one fist to his eye had silenced him. As soon as I’d mentioned I knew Elena was alive and well—living with her husband in Italy—Jonathan had been more docile than a newborn kitten. He agreed; I didn’t have to give him money. He would let his daughter stay as long as she needed.

Now he’d put his hands on her.

I hit the highway and accelerated, reminding Emilia to count her breaths. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Slow, deep breaths.

Patrick was in my rearview, and between the two of us, we raked in an impressive number of honks from the vehicles we passed.

I didn’t slow down until our exit was next.

Heads turned as we entered the town, reminding me of the call I’d gotten from Aunt Viv today. Not to mention the text from Emilia. Everyone was speculating about us, and the only ones suffering were Emilia and Sarah.

My breath hitched uncomfortably the second I reached Emilia’s street. She was sitting on the sidewalk, surrounded by a couple bags. Face buried in her hands. Her hair was tangled and had escaped her ponytail for the most part.

I pulled over and disconnected the call, and then I was by her side. “Emilia. Sweetheart, I’m here.” I noticed she had a photo album in her lap, and she was clutching her phone close to her face. “Emilia?” It was as if she was gone. At least she was breathing better, so I picked her up and rounded the car. “I’ve got you.” I pressed a kiss to the side of her head before lowering her into the passenger’s seat.

“What if I killed him?” she whispered.

I frowned, then quickly ignored the notion and combed back some of her hair.

“He hasn’t been violent before,” she croaked. Tears fell down her cheeks, and before I could catch them, she buried her face in her—scratch that, my hoodie. The one she’d borrowed from me the other day. “This smells like you.”

“Yeah?” I mustered half a smile and glanced around me. A couple neighbors were being too curious, standing in their windows. Patrick was collecting Emilia’s things off the ground. “I’m gonna go check on your pop,” I told her quietly. “I’ll be back, okay? Patrick’s here too.”

“Hurry.” She started crying harder, and it physically hurt to tear myself away.

I gnashed my teeth together and cleared my throat into my fist.

Patrick joined me by my side.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t leave her side.”

“Of course.”

My hands were tied. With neighbors wondering what was going on, I couldn’t do anything to Jonathan right now. Even so, I had to survey the damage, and I jogged up their driveway and opened the door.

I stopped short. There was no way Emilia had inflicted actual hurt, was there? She was way too sweet. Yet, there were bloodstains on the floor. I traced the red into the kitchen where the spots were more like smeared streaks.

And there was Jonathan. He’d dragged himself in there and was slumped on the floor by the sink, holding a rag to his nose.

“Sweet Jesus,” I muttered. “I’m marrying a fighter.”

Emilia had defended herself well. Pride swelled up in my chest. I didn’t even have to reach for the gun hidden under my Henley. She’d rendered him useless.

Jonathan glared weakly at me. “Go’way.”

“In a bit.” I moved closer and squatted down in front of him. “Check you out, mate. She turned you into roadkill.”

She’d scratched up his neck, done something to cause his eye to look swollen, ripped his shirt, and turned his nose into a bloody faucet.

“She tried to kill me,” he rasped. “Just like she killed her mothe—”

“Dude. You forget that I know the truth.”

He whimpered, his head lolling back against the cupboard. “My Elena’s dead.”

I shook my head at him. “You are one sorry sack of shit, Jonathan.”

A burst of anger ignited him. “She tried to kill me!”

I didn’t even flinch. “She didn’t, but I tell you what. If you so much as breathe a word about this to anyone, I’ll finish the job.” There was no if about it. “Are we clear?”

Sooner rather than later, Jonathan was gonna find himself with a bullet in his head.

“I get it,” he gritted out.

“Good boy.” I rose to a stand and pushed up my sleeves. “I’ll check in on you soon, Jonathan.”

“I won’t talk!”

“That’s good. I’ll still come by to visit.” I turned to leave. “After all, we’ll be family soon.”

* * *

“I’ll get Pop.” Patrick ran ahead toward my house while I helped Emilia out of the car.

Fuck, she was gone again. I carried her across the road, and as I reached my house, Pop opened the door with a worried expression. That made two of us, only I was getting increasingly close to freaking the fuck out.

“She’s in and out of it,” I said impatiently. “Her breathing’s fine, but one second she’s telling me what happened, and the next she’s crying and panicking until she shuts down.”

“Lay her down on the couch, please.” Pop went into doctor mode and asked what’d happened. I told him everything I knew, mentioning Jonathan and the state I’d found him in. Before I knew it, more words were spilling out of me. About Aunt Viv and the shit the girls went through at school, what their peers were saying about them on social media.

“I’m not sure they know about that part, though,” I said. “Neither of them has accounts on Facebook and that, what’s it called, Twitter?”

Patrick nodded.

In the meantime, Pop was examining her on the couch. He checked her breathing, felt her pulse and her forehead, and started removing her hoodie.

“All right. Pat, go out to my car and get my bag,” Pop told him. “I trust that you know your way around it since you just fucking stole it.”

I pinched my lips together, too worried to laugh, but the smirk was hard to contain.

“Seriously.” Patrick shot me a scowl before running out of the house.

“Do you really have a doctor’s bag?” I sat down by Emilia’s feet and lifted them onto my lap.

Pop shook his head. “Not my field, but I do carry samples of antidepressants and sedatives.” He gently pulled the hoodie over Emilia’s head and dropped it next to him. “It sounds to me like she’s had too much to deal with today. Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m trying,” I growled. “Can you fix her? I need her to be okay now.”

His mouth twitched, and he checked her pulse again. “She’ll be fine, boy. The mind is an extraordinary thing with a remarkable defense system. It knows when a person can’t handle any more stress. She’s likely had a big panic attack, and now her mind is forcing her to recover.” He frowned, which obviously made me even more tense, and he pulled down the neckline of her long-sleeved tee.

I inhaled sharply at the sight of the blotchy marks. “He—fuck. That sick son of a bitch. I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll cut him to pieces—”

“Finnegan.” Pop gave me a look.

I pressed a fist to my mouth and forced myself to memorize every mark Jonathan had given her. I could clearly see the dark prints of his fingers. He’d been goddamn rough on her for the bruises to be forming already.

Pop took a breath, not looking entirely calm himself. “When she spoke earlier, was she hoarse? How was her voice?”

I nodded. “Raspy.”

“Could she move her head? Was she complaining of pain?”

“She said she felt like he was still choking her.” Holy fuck, Jonathan’s days were numbered. “She could move okay, though.”

“That’s good.” He carefully felt around her neck. “We’ll take her to a physician if she doesn’t feel better soon. I don’t think she’s injured her larynx, or trachea for that matter, but better safe than sorry. She’s probably only sore. I’ll have Ian make her something later.”

“I need whiskey,” I said.

“You and me both,” he muttered. “I trust that this Jonathan Porter won’t be breathing much longer.”

“I’ll find him a nice resting place.”

“Good.” He nodded and stood up, and Pat returned a couple seconds later. “Here we go.” He opened his briefcase and retrieved a handful of sample packets. “These are all low dosage. You can give her one when she wakes up—if she starts panicking.”

I checked the packets, recognizing Xanax and Ativan. “Thanks. Which one’s for me?”

He chuckled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I reckon a shot of whiskey will take care of things.” He faced my brother. “Are the twins packed and ready to go?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check.” Patrick walked out again.

I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair.

“She’s a lovely one.” Pop smiled faintly. “I’m looking forward to meeting her under better circumstances.”

“You should’ve seen what she did to her pop.” Now that the worst was over, I could smile about it. “She broke his nose.”

“Attagirl.” He smirked and nodded. “I’ll go talk to Ian before we go. You should get her comfortable. She might be disoriented when she comes to.”

“I will. Thanks for the help, Dad.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

Emilia woke up a couple hours later, and though she didn’t panic, she did get upset. I gave her the Xanax and made her drink some water, and then she was asleep again.

I barely left my room. I went downstairs once to get something to eat and thank Patrick for coming with me today. Other than that, I stayed in bed with my laptop and set one of my credit cards on fire. After what Emilia had been through, my top priority was to keep her safe and happy.

Texting with my mother and aunt, I learned quite a bit about what women liked having around the house, such as shower products that weren’t for men, foods and drinks they liked, and clothes.

I browsed one section in an online clothing store before calling it quits and transferring money to Karla’s account instead. She was a personal shopper my brother, father, and I went to whenever a woman in the family had a birthday or whatever. She’d already helped me with Emilia twice.

Most of all, Aunt Viv had told me, it was important that Emilia got to decide for herself.

I kinda forgot about that, but it was only because the girl was asleep, and I wanted the shit shipped here stat.

It was impossible to forget that Emilia told me earlier she’d marry me. I didn’t trust those words because of the circumstances; that said, I did want her to stay here. She could do whatever she wanted with the guest room if she wanted privacy, as long as she didn’t go back to Sarah and that run-down motel.

Hell, not even Sarah should stay there. When I talked to Patrick earlier, he had just filled Sarah in on the situation, and she was understandably upset. Yet when he’d offered to come get her, she’d declined.

“Finnegan…” Emilia’s whisper stirred the silence, and she sat up abruptly. “Oh God.”

“I’m here. How’re you feeling?” I set aside my laptop and felt her forehead. She was a little clammy. The girl needed a haircut. As beautiful as the long waves were, she could get lost in them.

“Dirty.” She grimaced. “Can I borrow your shower?”

“Of course.” I left the bed and rounded it to help her. “Uh, how’s your throat? Are you sore?” I wanted to know if I should call a doctor. I wasn’t about to risk anything with her.

She took my hand and let me help her out of bed. “A little sore, maybe. Not as bad as before.”

That was a relief.

She asked for privacy once I’d guided her to the bathroom, and I told her I’d be back with some clothes. She’d wobbled some, so I didn’t wanna be away from her more than necessary.

A pair of boxer shorts and one of my tees would have to suffice tonight. Patrick had left Emilia’s bags in the living room, and I had no desire to sift through them.

I gave the bathroom door a knock when she’d flushed the toilet.

She opened it and let me in.

“Are you in a hurry?” My forehead creased as I looked her over. She seemed anxious to get in the shower.

“I feel gross.” She yanked her shirt over her head, and I did a double take before averting my gaze. Jesus Christ. I wasn’t sure what’d caught my attention the most, the marks around her neck or her breasts in a simple white bra. “Um, you showed me your ass last time.” Was she justifying her quick stripping…?

“I’m not complaining.” I side-eyed her. “I’m worried because Bambi can walk steadier than you.”

She giggled sleepily, a gorgeous sound that filled me with more relief.

“I can get you a lawn chair to sit in—in the shower, I mean,” I said. “I don’t want you to trip.”

She shook her head and unbuttoned her jeans. My concern wasn’t exactly wiped out when she had to support herself on the counter. “I’m fine. There’s no way a chair would fit in there anyway.”

“You’re dizzy,” I argued. Leaving the boxers and tee next to the sink, I walked over to the shower. “Let me run you a bath instead. Then you don’t have to stand up.”

“Finnegan.” She put a hand on my lower back as I turned on the water.

I straightened and sighed, only to cough. Now she was in just her panties and bra. Fucking perfect.

This time, however, the marks won. I clenched my jaw and carefully touched her shoulder. “I want him to suffer.”

She turned toward the mirror, and I couldn’t read her expression. She inspected the darkening bruises the same way I’d study a painting.

Unless I was stealing it, I had no interest in art.

“I punched him,” she whispered.

“You did more than that.” I came to a stand behind her and shifted her hair to the side. “I haven’t been that proud in a long time, princess.”

“Really?” She looked skeptical, yet her mouth quirked up slightly.

“Really.” I pressed a kiss to her temple and kept watching her in the mirror. “Imagine the damage you could do with some training. No motherfucker would dare put a hand on you.”

Her eyes flashed with something, and whatever it was, it pierced through the film of emptiness. “I wanna be strong.”

“Stronger,” I corrected, gathering her hair in my hands. “You’re already strong, Emilia.”

“Stronger,” she whispered to herself. Then she nodded slowly and made eye contact in the mirror. “I meant it, you know. I’ll marry you.”

I took a deep breath. My hands fell to my sides. She’d been through too much today to make that decision. Even I had limits. As far as I knew, she was still affected by the anxiety pill. But fuck if I didn’t wanna seal the deal right this second.

“Ask me again.” She turned around and peered up at me. “Ask me, Finnegan, and promise to take me away from here. Tell me I never have to see my dad again. Swear to me I’m free from this hellhole.”

She was killing me.

“If you regret this when your head is clear…”

“My head is clear,” she insisted. “If today has proven anything, it’s how fucking done I am. I don’t want that to be my life.”

I’d made my argument. I didn’t have the willpower to give another or dig my heels into the sand. Placing my hands on the counter on each side of her, I dipped down and kissed her.

“Be my wife.” I cupped her cheek and rested my forehead against hers. “I’ll take you away from here. You never have to see him again. I’ll help you get stronger.” When she closed her eyes, I dropped two kisses over her eyelids. “Marry me, and I’ll give you a better life.”

She let out a trembling breath. “Okay. Yes.”

“Yeah?” My stomach flipped.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes, and the hazel in them shone brighter. “I’m sure. I’ll be your wife.”

I kissed her again, deeper this time, and my ticker pounded in my rib cage. My hands went to her hips, and I stroked her soft skin, earning myself a shiver from her. In turn, she pressed herself closer to me, and I picked her up and sat her on the counter.

“I have a ring.” I grazed my teeth along her bottom lip before sweeping inside for a heady taste. Kissing her was becoming an addiction, same with feeling her, being close to her, holding her.

“You do?”

I nodded and cradled her face in my hands. “You take your bath. I’ll get the ring and some food.”

“Okay.” Her smile was atypically shy, and her cheeks were perfectly flushed.

“So fucking beautiful.” I gave her another smooch. “Be careful in the tub, okay?”

“I will.”