3. Emmett

Chapter 3

Emmett

Dante released his death grip on the back of Jenn’s chair and intervened. He extended his hand, swooping in to shake mine before I could touch Jenn. Drew had called it—she was his date, and he was hoping for more. That wasn’t going to happen. The De Rosas had their fingers in too many less-than-legal operations for me to accept him in her life.

Her father’s words echoed in my memory. ‘She deserves better than the son of a criminal.’

My smile faltered.

“Enjoy your meal, Emmett Stone.” Dante was going to be a problem. If he saw me as a threat, he might interfere in my investigation.

Jenn smiled at me, a slight furrow in her brow. She was trying to figure out what was going on. “See you later.”

I turned and left them, sliding one hand into my pocket as I strolled to the other end of the restaurant.

“The son looked like he was about to deck you,” said Drew over my earpiece. “She may be more of a liability than an asset.”

The problem was that Scarlett’s best friends were on the outside. Scar insisted they never know the whole truth of our work, so she’d always have friends who didn’t look at her as a heist crew’s mastermind.

So here I was, telling barefaced lies in front of Jenn and expecting her to cover for me. I groaned internally. Every year, I grew more like my father—the criminal. The spy. The traitor.

I kept my voice down so no one would think me too strange conversing with myself. “We should finish our drinks and leave, Drew.”

“Despite the tip to get in?”

When I reached our table by the window, I scanned the horizon before pulling out my chair. “They’re suspicious.”

“Go figure,” said Scarlett over the earpiece. “You may as well have challenged him to a duel.”

That wasn’t her second-guessing voice. It was the one she used when she disapproved. Drew wouldn’t have noticed—it was subtle enough only our core team would recognize it. She hid her emotions well, except I had years of experience gauging the slightest shift in her cadence, tone, or the breaths she took between words.

I lowered myself into the seat and looked at Drew, as though we were having a polite chat, and I wasn’t arguing with my sister. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at her.”

“It doesn’t matter. Jenn has a boyfriend, so nothing will happen between her and Dante.”

“This is why it’s easier to work alone.” Drew motioned to a server for the bill, and the woman nodded. “The more people you let into your circle, the more you risk the work getting too personal.”

“The same way it was personal between you and Craig?” My lips tightened to emphasize the taunt.

Drew’s frown deepened.

That had been too low.

Honestly, our work had become increasingly personal over the last several months. An enemy that continued popping up during our jobs, the emotional scars my sister had suffered at their hands, not to mention the physical ones I had. I tucked a hand into my left pocket and ran my thumb over the textured surface of my poker chip.

The reminder of what my life had been like five months ago. Before the kidnapping. Before the beatings. Before?—

Snap out of it.

On top of everything, the revelation about our mother’s past with MI6 lingered like a shadow—a secret Scarlett and I shared only with Drew, hoping his contacts could uncover the truth. And now Jenn was here in Monte Carlo, involved with the very men we suspected held the stolen scarab.

I pulled the crystal tumbler at my setting closer, rolling it between my palms. “I should have said you and Jayce.”

Drew’s frown softened at the mention of his girlfriend, our team’s thief. He’d definitely let things get too personal with her, and he’d be the first to admit it. “We all have our lapses in judgment.”

I lifted my glass in salute, forcing myself to remain facing Drew.

Jenn’s father was right. She needed a good man. Apparently, she had one at home—although Scarlett complained often that Jenn rarely dated anyone who deserved her. If Mr. Thatcher hadn’t scared him off, maybe she’d finally found the one she deserved.

She didn’t need me protecting her from Dante De Rosa.

So why was every muscle in my body demanding I march back to their table and haul her out of there?