“You have to try this one first,” she says, holding up a soft pink sweater. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”
I take it automatically, closing the door behind us. The second it clicks shut, I can finally breathe.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “What the hell is going on, Sienna?”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
I stare at her. “I meanthis. The guards, the private jet, the driver who calls your dadDonConti. You’re acting like it’s totally normal to be followed around by armed men. It’s not.”
Sienna sighs, tucking her phone away. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
For a moment, she just looks at me. Then she sits on the little velvet bench, shoulders slumping. “You know my dad runs a company, right?”
“That’s what you told me. CEO, mysterious, super private.”
Her lips twitch. “Yeah, well. He owns a lot of companies. Some legit, some… not so much.”
I blink. “Not so much?”
She meets my gaze, her voice dropping. “Birdie, my dad’s not the kind of man you say no to. You’ve seen that. He doesn’t just have money. He has power. Real power.”
The words settle like ice in my stomach. “Power that comes from what, exactly?”
Sienna’s quiet for a beat too long. “You don’t want the details.”
“Try me anyway.”
She shakes her head. “Dad protects people. Sometimes that means doing things that aren’t exactly legal. But he’s not a bad man.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re telling me your dad—what? Runs the mob? And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
Her expression softens, a mix of guilt and worry. “You’re safe, Birdie. We’re both safe. That’s what matters.”
I look at her, really look, and realize she believes it. Maybe she’s always believed it. But safety and freedom don’t feel the same. And as I stand there holding a sweater that probably costs more than my rent, I start to understand that whatever world I’ve fallen into is one you don’t walk away from easily.
5
Lorenzo
I’m just finishing a call when the door to my office swings open and Francesca Marino breezes in like she owns the place. Every line of her body is deliberate from the tilt of her chin, the curve of her hip, and to the way one hand clutches a designer purse. The black dress clings close, elegant and unforgiving, the kind of thing that demands attention without asking for it.
Her hair is sleek, cut sharp as a blade, framing her face in perfect precision. The glossy black of her bob, the shimmer of silver around her throat, the dark polish on her nails—it’s like she’s been painted in power. She looks at me with hazel eyes that don’t flinch as she glides toward me.
“Fran,” I greet, standing to kiss her cheek. “What a surprise.”
She smiles and returns the kiss. “I was in the area and wanted to say hello.”
Fran never does anything by accident, which means there’s another reason she’s here.
She pauses, looking up at me with those eyes that could melt steel when she wants them to. “Did you tell her?”
And there it is. The real reason she’s here. It makes me cringe inside, but I don’t show it. Nothing good ever comes from showing cracks.
“Unfortunately, not yet,” I say, moving around the desk to pour myself another cup of espresso. “There was an incident in Kansas City. I plan to tell her tonight.”
It was Fran’s idea to have Sienna come home, now that her courses are finished until after the new year. A simple suggestion that suddenly feels like fate twisting the knife, especially with Miss Miller also being here.
