Because every time she was a step ahead of me, every time she met me halfway without hesitation, it only reinforced the one thing I was trying like hell to ignore?—
Shefit.
She just fucking fit in.
And then, somewhere along the way, I caught myself wanting to do something nice for her. Not only because she was an asset—though, let’s be real, it definitely factored in—but because Emma carried more weight on her shoulders than most people, and for some reason, I wanted to even the scales.
So when I saw her room looking like a crime scene of abandoned books, I figured she might appreciate a proper reading space. One night after dinner, I invited her into my personal library, a room that had always been my personal retreat from the chaos of our world.
Giving her a small tour of the premises, I couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction at her wide-eyed expression, the subtle awe as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books. It was clear she appreciated the space, and that simple fact made it feel even more worthwhile.
With it, a new routine was born.
She joined us every evening at dinner with the team, which had gotten louder with her around. Turned out, underneath all that frost, Emma had a razor-sharp, deadpan humor that fit right in with our brand of dysfunctional brotherhood.
“I’m just saying,” Emile announced one night, holding his spoon like it had broadcast power, “if I had to hook up with a mythical creature, I’m picking a siren. No question.”
Rocco gave him a look. “You mean the ones whosingmen to their deaths?”
Emile replied, his mouth full. “Exactly. I’d do her goodwhileshe’d serenade me.”
Across the table, Emma didn’t even blink. “You think she’d bother to finish the song?”
Kate snorted into her glass. Enya choked on her bread.
“Excuse me,” Emile said, clutching his imaginary pearls, “misshasn't seen the full performance, but I have skills.”
Emma tilted her head. “Do those include apologizing after two minutes and pretending it never happened?”
The table howled. Rocco had to grip the edge to stay upright.
Emile grinned through the laughter. “You’d be surprised what I can do with two full minutes.”
Emma raised a brow, flat and unimpressed. “I don’t think jiggling boobs until the woman fakes her orgasm really counts.”
Emile gasped in mock shock. “How dare you—those boob jiggles arechoreographed.”
Emma smirked. “I’m sure they are.”
“Wow,” Emile said, throwing a hand over his heart. “Can’t believe I’m being slut-shamed for mypassion.And for the record, some womenappreciateenthusiastic flailing!”
Emma let out an actual laugh—clear, genuine, and completely unguarded. I realized it was the first real one I’d ever heard from her.
It was like that. Every. Damn. Evening.
She’d toss out a single-line insult, and suddenly the table was a disaster zone of people choking on their drinks. Rocco and Emile were especially obsessed, planting themselves on either side of her like overgrown guard dogs, waiting for their next dose of comedy.
After dinner, I usually brought her back to the library.
It became a ritual of sorts—sitting in silence, each of us in our own chesterfield, reading and sipping on aged Scotch. I was only mildly horrified to find I had actually started looking forward to it.
One night, as we sat there in the soft glow of the lamps, I glanced over at her. She looked peaceful, utterly relaxed, her curvy figure nestled into the chair, a book in one hand and a glass in the other. Her brows furrowed in concentration, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. There was something so serene about her in that moment it caught me off guard.
Such a stark contrast to the fierce warrior I’d come to know on the battlefield. My mind wandered back to the memory of her snapping a man’s neck after seducing him, the lethal edge she hid so well behind her quiet grace. It was hard to reconcile thesetwo sides of her, yet they existed so seamlessly together. Before I knew it, the next words slipped out.
“You kind of remind me of a black widow,” I said, keeping my tone light, as if we were discussing breakfast choices.
She looked up, a little surprised. “The spider?”
