“I’ll call Dr. Weston?—”
“No. Sienna cleaned me up for now. I want to talk about our next move.”
Artem hesitates for a moment. “We’re in deep, brother. Nikolai isn’t going to lie.”
“I know.”
“You think she’ll run again?”
My brows furrow at the sudden change of subject. “Not if she knows what’s good for her. Nikolai won’t stop until he’s taken everything that’s mine.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We move first.”
“You want me to pull the crew we have?”
“No. Quiet moves only. I want eyes on Nikolai’s men, his routes, and his new buyers. If he’s trying to rebuild, I want to know who’s bankrolling him.”
“Understood.”
“Call the Italians. I want a meeting.”
“I thought we were going to keep them out of family matters.”
“I don’t want to wait a few months to obtain what’s mine.”
“Understood. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I hang up, ready to steel myself for the days to come. Instead, I find myself looking toward the doorway where Sienna disappeared.
I should clean up. Rest. Something.
Instead, I pour a drink and let the burn chase the thought of her mouth against my skin.
She’s trouble.
She’s betrayal.
And she’s still the only thing that makes me feel alive.
7
Sienna
I don’t realize how tight my grip is on the steering wheel until I pull into the senior home parking lot and see the white marks on my fingers.
For the first time in days, my lungs expand.
No Benedikt.
No arguments.
No debts hanging over my head.
I grab a paper bag from the passenger seat—my grandmother’s favorite muffins from our bakery—and head inside.
The walls are lined with fading artwork and bulletin boards covered in Bingo schedules and potluck signup sheets.
