He sighs and shakes his head. “Lucien is filing for guardianship of Emma.”

It takes me a minute. “What?”

“Lucien wants to be appointed your sister’s legal guardian.”

I push my hands into my hair, my head feeling heavy, the food I just scarfed down sitting like a brick in my stomach. I shake my head and look up at them.

“We have her. He can’t get to her.”

“We kidnapped her.”

“But I’m… how can he do that? Why? He doesn’t care about her. Certainly doesn’t love her.”

“It’s about leverage,” Amadeo says.

“It’s not about love. Love doesn’t matter,” Bastian adds.

I get to my feet, irritated, and go to him. I shove him. “Of course it matters. Love may not matter to someone like you, but it does matter!”

With a snort, he takes my wrists, and I breathe him in. “Someone like me?”

“Yes. Someone like you.”

“You’re fucked up, Dandelion, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do, Bastian. And guess what? You’re just as fucked up. Do you know that?”

He grins and nods casually. Too casually.

“Is this all a game to both of you?” I ask, turning to face Amadeo when Bastian releases my wrists.

“No game. We have an idea.”

I shake my head and step toward the exit of the room. “I want to see my brother.”

Amadeo takes my arm and turns me around. He draws me close and searches my face, eyes landing on my mouth and making me remember our last kiss. Making me remember how he gets when we kiss.

But this isn’t the time. “Let me go.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he holds me close as he and his brother share some silent communication.

“Let’s go into the study,” Bastian says.

“No. There’s no time,” I say, but Amadeo marches me to the study as Bastian leads the way. Once inside. I’m deposited on the couch. I wince when the blade cuts my thigh and look from one to the other. From the desk, Amadeo retrieves a file.

Dread settles in my stomach when he carries it to me but doesn’t quite hand it over.

“Do you remember our conversation from a few nights ago, Dandelion?” Bastian asks, coming to sit beside me. Amadeo takes the seat opposite us.

“Which one?” I rub my temples. I’m getting a headache.

“When I asked you if your mother or father had brown eyes.”