But Sienna isn’t.
Elizabeth looks up the moment I enter. Relief flickers in her eyes first. “Is she okay?”
The question cuts through me like a knife. I open my mouth, but for once, words fail me. Her expression shifts, the hope draining out before I can find a way to soften the blow.
“No,” she whispers.
I shake my head once to confirm her thought. “She didn’t make it.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, my God. This is my fault. I should have talked her out of going out.”
She looks so small there, trembling, the weight of it hitting her almost as hard as it’s hitting me. I sit on the edge of the bed, not trusting myself to speak. She doesn’t hesitate. She just reaches out, her good hand finding mine.
It’s a simple thing. Human. Real. And it breaks me in ways bullets never could.
“I’m sorry,” she says through quiet sobs. “I tried to protect her. I—she wasrightthere, and?—”
I tighten my grip gently, stopping her. “You don’t apologize for trying to save her. You were with her when I wasn’t.”
That truth tastes like poison.
We sit there for a long time, saying nothing, the silence thick with everything we’ve lost.
Finally, I stand. “They’ll want to move her to the morgue soon. You should say goodbye.”
Elizabeth nods, wiping her eyes. I help her to her feet, steadying her when she sways. Together, we walk down the hall, neither of us speaking.
When we reach the small, sterile room, I almost can’t bring myself to open the door. Cesaro steps forward like he’s going to offer, but I shake my head and do it myself.
The air inside is cold, sharp with disinfectant. Sienna lies on a bed with a white sheet draped over her from her shoulders to her feet. She’s still and pale, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a crown. For one torturous second I tell myself that she’s just sleeping. But I know the truth.
Elizabeth gasps softly, covering her mouth again. I can’t look away. My daughter. My light. My blood—is gone.
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. My hand doesn’t shake.
“She used to fall asleep in the spare chair in my office when she was little,” I say quietly. “I’d be working late, and she’d just climb up beside me, curl up, and tell me not to forget to eat dinner.”
Elizabeth doesn’t speak. She just cries quietly beside me.
I lower my head, pressing a kiss to Sienna’s forehead.
She’s cold now. Unfamiliar.
“Rest now,tesoro,” I whisper. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
When I straighten, Elizabeth’s watching me, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes steady. There’s fear there, yes, but also understanding. She doesn’t have to ask what I’m going to do next. She already knows.
Because this isn’t grief anymore. It’s vengeance.
The snow is still falling when I arrive at the warehouse. Elizabeth is on her way to my house with ten men at her side. And my poor, sweet Sienna is probably in the morgue by now.
They have him tied to a chair in the warehouse with his hands bound behind his back, blood seeping through the fresh bandage on his shoulder. He’s young. Late teens maybe early twenties. Hard eyes, jaw clenched like he’s still trying to play the tough guy even though his life’s already over. My men stand on either side, silent and waiting. The air smells of oil and cold metal.
I take my time. Remove my coat. Roll up my sleeves. The concrete floor groans under my shoes as I circle him.
“You know who I am?” I ask quietly.
He nods once, defiantly. “Conti.”
