Page 28 of Unholy Nights

I want to tell her we're turning around, that I'm taking her far away from here, away from Emmitt and Madeline and anyone else who might try to dim her light. But there are too many pieces still in play, too many moves left to make before I can claim her completely.

"I'm fine, little one," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "Are you ready?"

She swallows hard, her pulse fluttering visibly in her throat. "I... I think so."

"You don't have to be afraid," I tell her, my hand sliding to cup her cheek. "I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe with me."

The way she leans into my touch, seeking comfort, makes something primal roar to life inside me. Mine, it screams. Mine to protect. Mine to possess. Mine to corrupt.

"I know," she whispers, and the trust in her voice is both intoxicating and terrifying. She has no idea the monster she's putting her faith in.

I let my hand fall away, already mourning the loss of contact. "Let's go," I say, opening my door. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get you out of here."

As we walk toward the building, my hand finds the small of her back, a possessive touch that's becoming second nature. I guide her through the revolving door, my eyes scanning our surroundings for any potential threats. The lobby is all polished marble and sleek lines, designed to impress and intimidate. The receptionist behind the curved desk looks up as we approach, her plastic smile faltering slightly when she meets my gaze.

Then her eyes shift to Emerald, lingering a fraction too long, assessing her with a look that says she knows exactly why Emmitt requested this meeting with my teenage stepdaughter.

My fingers dig into Emerald's back possessively.Mine.The urge to shield her from even this stranger's gaze makes my jaw clench. No one gets to look at her like that.

"Miss Delacroix," the receptionist says, her voice overly bright before her eyes dart uncertainly to me, "and... Mr. Astor. Mr. Caldwell is expecting you. Fifteenth floor.

I nod curtly, steering Emerald toward the elevator without bothering to respond. As the doors slide shut, I feel her lean into me slightly, seeking reassurance. I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer.

"Remember," I murmur, my lips against her temple. "You don't have to say or do anything you're not comfortable with. I'll handle Emmitt."

She nods, but I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves. When the elevator dings and the doors open, I have to resist the urge to simply scoop her up and carry her back to the car.

Emmitt's assistant, a nervous-looking young woman with perfectly styled hair, is waiting for us. "Mr. Astor, Miss Delacroix," she says, her voice slightly strained. "This way, please."

As we follow her down the hallway, I notice the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder, her eyes darting between Emerald and me. There's a wariness there, a poorly disguised discomfort that sets off warning bells in my head. How many other young women has Emmitt lured into his office under the guise of "business"?

The thought makes my blood boil, and I have to consciously unclench my fist before we reach his office.

The man himself is waiting behind an ostentatious desk when we enter, and I watch his practiced smile falter when hespots me beside Emerald. "Cohen," he says, voice tight as he stands, clearly thrown off his game. His eyes shift to Emerald and warm considerably. "And Emerald. I wasn't expecting company for our meeting."

His eyes zero in on my stepdaughter, roving over her body in a way that makes me want to pop them like grapes with my bare hands. The hunger in his gaze is unmistakable, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to lunge across the desk and snap his neck.

"Emmitt," I say, my voice cold enough to freeze hell itself. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk with forced politeness. "Please, sit. Can I offer either of you anything?"

"We're fine," I say curtly, guiding Emerald to sit before unbuttoning my jacket and taking the chair next to her. I angle my body slightly, creating a barrier between her and Emmitt. A clear message that he'll have to go through me to get to her.

"Right," Emmitt says, his jaw tight as he settles back in his chair. "Let's discuss the charity auction. Emerald, your mother speaks highly of your attention to detail. I'm looking forward to working closely with you on this."

I watch as Emerald shifts in her seat, her discomfort palpable. "I... I'll do my best," she says softly, her eyes flicking to me before returning to Emmitt.

"Perfect," Emmitt says, and something dark flashes in his eyes that makes my fingers itch to wrap around his throat. "We'll need several meetings to get everything organized properly. I was thinking dinner might be more... comfortable. There's this private bistro—"

"That won't be necessary," I cut in, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel. "Any further discussions can be handled via email or conference call."

Emmitt's eyes narrow slightly, his mask of affability slipping. "Now, Cohen," he says, his tone patronizing. "I'm sure Emerald is more than capable of handling a simple business dinner. After all, she'll need to learn how to navigate these social situations if she's going to take over her mother's empire someday."

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, fixing Emmitt with the same stare I give defendants right before I destroy their lives in court. "Let me be very clear," I say, letting ice coat every syllable. "Emerald will not be attending any private dinners or meetings with you. Ever. If you have business to discuss, you can do it through me."

The tension in the room ratchets up several notches, the air thick with unspoken threats. Emmitt's face flushes, a vein pulsing in his forehead as he struggles to maintain his composure.

"I see," he says finally, his voice tight. "Well then, let's discuss the auction plans. Emerald—"

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