Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

22. Emma

Chapter 22

Emma

I was sure, when I was clutching Sidony to my chest and leaving Achilles behind, that I was doing the right thing. I heard the gunshots as I carried Sidony through the house, and could only assume- could only hope- that they meant her father was delivering justice.

But as the two of us wait on Sidony’s bed for her father to find us and tell us everything is okay again, I start to fear that I could have been wrong. Achilles could have been hurt. Or, even if he wasn’t, he could be detained now. He just killed three of Fantasia’s men without her knowledge or permission. No matter how heavily she leans on him, there’s also a volatile tension between them that can’t be ignored.

There will be retaliation for this. It’s just a matter of when, where, and what it is.

Sidony trembles uncontrollably in my arms. She’s not crying, or even whimpering, and she’s not cold. She’s in shock, and it’s breaking my heart to watch a girl as young as her go through something I remember so viscerally myself. All I can do is wrap her in blankets, rub her back firmly, and hum any soothing song I can think of to get her mind off of what’s happening.

I’ve been counting the minutes, and hit the eighth when I decide it would be best to just get her out of here myself and regroup with Achilles later. It might be difficult to convince her to leave without her father, but I have to try.

I’m in the middle of gathering my best excuses when the handle on the door leading to Achilles’s room rattles. It’s barricaded with a chair, and doesn’t budge. Whoever’s on the other side pauses, clearly surprised it didn’t immediately swing open.

Then I hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good girl,” Achilles sighs, more to himself than to us. Then, “It’s Achilles. Let me in now please.”

Sidony lunges out of my lap and runs for the door. I get there just in time to move the chair for her so she doesn’t knock it over on herself, then fling it open. Achilles is on the other side, whole and unharmed and looking as relieved as I feel.

“Daddy!” Sidony cries, throwing herself fully into his arms. He scoops her up and crushes her to his chest- but his eyes go to me over her shoulder. For a moment, we just stare at each other, two weeks of silence and frustration and a thousand complications sitting between us.

Then he holds an arm out for me, and I don’t hesitate to step into it.

I had no idea how much I missed Achilles’s scent and warmth until I’m enveloped in it again. Achilles pulls me into a fierce hug, his hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers weaving into my hair like they belong there. The three of us breathe into each other, our heartbeats melding and mellowing now that we’re together.

“You did very well,” Achilles murmurs, his breath tickling across my forehead. “Both of you.”

“Are the scary men gone, daddy?” Sidony whispers, so small I can barely hear her.

I feel Achilles shudder, and a spear of grief goes through my chest too. No little girl should have boogeymen that exist outside her dreams, and especially not ones that have reared their heads more than once.

“Don’t worry, little princess,” Achilles tells his daughter. “They’re gone. And we’re going home.”

Sidony blinks up with teary eyes. “Really?”

Achilles kisses her forehead once, twice, three times. “Yes. We’re leaving Wesley Hall. Today.”

It’s strange to think that I’ve been scheming to escape Wesley Hall since I arrived, but now that Achilles is removing me from it, I don’t want to go. There are cracks all through the foundations of this family, but they’re not big enough for me to slip my fingers through yet. If I just had a little more time…

But no, I won’t stop Achilles from making a decision for the sake of Sidony’s safety. I also can’t deny that there’s relief in my bones that I won’t be living under Fantasia’s fugue and the threat of the brutes wandering around her house.

I’m also curious about where we’re going. Where is ‘home’ to Sidony and Achilles, and why isn’t it Wesley Hall? They must have left it at the behest of Fantasia, but the further away from the Hall that we drive, the more confused I feel. It’s strange that the Warwicks wouldn’t remain more centralized.

The estate we eventually reach is nearly an hour away from the heart of the city, hidden from the more suburban neighborhood around it by a small grove of evergreen trees and a tall brick wall. Our limo rolls through opening gates, and through the branches and lush landscaping, I see glimpses of a huge white house. Sidney presses her hands and face to the window to see it better, turned around in her seat while Achilles holds a hand to her back.

I wonder if either of them know how much more alive they look right now.

When we stop at the end of the gravel drive, I finally get to admire the front of the house. I don’t know much about architecture, but even I can appreciate its huge bay windows and the flowers growing on every balcony. This place looks like a home instead of a museum. If I lived here, I wouldn’t want to trade it for Wesley Hall either.

Achilles and I have to arrange ourselves around Sidony so we can each hold one of her hands and one of our bags, but we all manage to make it up the front steps without tripping. A harried-looking butler waits by the double front doors, which have been propped open for us.

“Apologies, Mr. Ashwood,” he says. “We’re not quite done freshening up the rooms-”

“No need to stand on ceremony, Barkley,” Achilles says. “I gave you very short notice. Don’t worry about the rooms for now. Could we have some lunch brought up to Sidony’s room, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Certainly, Mr. Ashwood,” Barkley says, giving a little bow and following us inside.

I’m struck immediately by the richness of the color inside the house, starkly contrasting its white exterior. The tile floor in the foyer is a lavish blue and white pattern, the walls a cheery yellow and packed with ornate picture frames. The sitting room is upholstered in burgundy and pale green florals, with plants crowded into every corner and light flooding the room through huge windows.

Achilles motions for me to leave the bag I’m carrying in the foyer, and Barkley, who disappeared suddenly and reappeared just as quickly, takes them in hand for us and goes straight up the stairs.

“Shall we give Raleigh a tour?” Achilles asks Sidony. She smiles, for the first time since Fantasia’s generals cornered us on the terrace, and my heart melts to the floor.

“My grandfather built this house,” Achilles says, as we walk past the front room and down the first hall. It’s lined with windows letting in every ray of light available. “He wanted a place for my grandmother that was outside the hustle of London, but not too far that they couldn’t have a night on the town every now and then. He took a great deal of inspiration from the Edwardian architectural style when building the house, but he let my grandmother do the bulk of the interior design because he loved her eye for color and texture so much.”

What a labor of love, I think, to build a home together. I’m surprised such a tender relationship existed in a mafia family.

Or… did it?

We pass through a bright dining room, an even brighter sun room, a small ballroom lined with gilded mirrors, and a huge kitchen bustling with staff. They all stop in their tracks so they can rush toward us and greet Achilles and Sidony with ecstatic smiles. The sentiments all pile on top of each other.

“Mr. Ashwood!”

“Little Miss Ashwood!”

“Welcome home, both of you!”

“Miss Ashwood, you’ve gotten so big!”

“You should have told us you were on your way home, we would have made you a better lunch than sandwiches!”

“It’s good to see you all,” Achilles says, wearing a rare warm smile. “I apologize for giving so little warning. This was a- last minute decision.”

“Well, whatever’s brought you home, we’re grateful,” one of the older women says.

Several pairs of eyes go to me. There’s an awkward pause, and I wonder if any of these people know that I’m Achilles’s new bride, or if they think I’m a nanny for Sidony.

Achilles seems to consider how to explain- and apparently decides not to at all. “As am I,” he says, then turns to Sidony. “On with the tour?”

Leaving a kitchen full of desperately curious staff behind us, we move on to the back of the house.

“If you have your own house, why the hell were we in Wesley Hall?” I murmur, looking up at Achilles with raised brows.

Achilles gives me a look, but where I expect a warning to stay silent, I see… a plea to wait. A promise of answers, but not here and not now.

The back door of the house opens on a gorgeous overgrown garden woven through with stone paths and enclosed by high hedges. At the back of the garden sits a beautiful iron gate, and beyond that, rolling grassy hills and trees. How big is the plot of land this house sits on? I imagine running over that sweeping lawn and through the trees, not having to worry about staying on a strict path like at Wesley Hall.

Sidony claps gleefully and rushes off the back porch into the garden. I step forward to follow her, but Achilles puts a hand on my arm.

“She’ll be all right alone. The garden isn’t big enough to get lost in, and that gate is locked.”

What a relief, to not have to be afraid to let a small child run around outside. I look at Achilles’s hand, still set lightly on my upper arm, then at him. “So… Ashwood House,” I prompt.

Achilles’s jaw works a little. He’s debating what to say, but he can’t deny the name he’s been called half a dozen times since we walked into the house. I wait for him to do it anyway, to either lie or refuse to answer the question like he has the last few weeks. To my surprise, he doesn’t.

“My mother, who married Marcus after my father died, liked to tell people that she merged the Warwick and Ashwood families herself,” he admits. “Well, my grandfather didn’t approve or agree. He wrote his will actively shutting Fantasia out of every pound of Ashwood money, this house, and ownership of the Ashwood businesses. But after my- after Sidony’s mum died, I had no interest in running any businesses. I didn’t care about patrolling the casinos in Whitechapel, or overseeing the auction of priceless artifacts in the backrooms of the British Museum, or making sure our shipping routes were staying updated. Those things are Fantasia’s problem now. But this estate and the bulk of my grandfather’s money still belongs to me.

“That’s why-” I have to clamp my mouth shut, because I don’t want to start a fight within Sidony’s hearing. But suddenly, so much makes sense to me- the tension between Fantasia and Achilles, the reason Fantasia is strapped for cash while Achilles is loaded. There’s no way his grandfather, who built this gorgeous house for his wife, would let a drop of his money leave the family. In theory , Achilles said, which says so much while admitting nothing at all.

How angry was Fantasia when she realized she wouldn’t get a drop of money from one side of her family? Has she been punishing Achilles for that ever since?

“Why leave Ashwood House, then?” I ask instead.

“Fantasia wanted to keep me close,” Achilles says. “She… trusts me more than anyone else.”

That didn’t answer my first question, but the sorrow in his eyes holds my tongue. I can’t forget that we’re here because we’re fleeing Wesley Hall, fleeing Fantasia. The rift that has been growing between these siblings has finally become a gaping wound. Achilles has given me this handful of truths because he’s lost part of the reason to keep them from me, his loyalty to his half-sister.

I could make use of that loosening of his ideals. I wouldn’t feel good about it, though. More than anything, I just want to comfort Achilles in this moment. But how can I, when Achilles isn’t the only one telling lies right now?