“Because you’re not opening this restaurant, and I can’t figure out why.” Siena gestures around the beautiful, empty kitchen. “You’ve been here every day for a month, cooking for no one, hiding out. The baby’s coming in two weeks, Sophie. I want to be here for your opening night, but there’s not going to be an opening night if you don’t accept this apology of his and move forward.”
“His apology?” I laugh without humor. “This isn’t an apology. This is pity. ‘Here, princess, take all the things you could have never gotten without me since you’re not good enough to actually be with me.’”
“Stop.” Siena’s command is sharp. She crosses the kitchen and grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Listen to me. Vin is an asshole. What he did at my party was unforgivable. The way he’s handling this whole thing is cowardly and cruel.”
“Then why—”
“But this is the only language he knows for ‘I’m sorry.’” She gestures around the kitchen. “This is him trying to say whatever the fuck it is he can’t fucking say because he’s a God damn asshole with zero emotional intelligence.”
“I loved him,” I whisper. “I still love him. How pathetic is that?”
“It’s not pathetic.” Siena’s voice softens. “But you can’t let him take your dream away too, Sophie. You had a restaurant when you met him. You have a restaurant now that he’s gone. Stay focused on what matters.”
I turn off the burner, abandoning the risotto. “I don’t have any money, Siena. Everything he paid for, I can’t afford it. And I won’t take his charity.”
“This isnotcharity. It’s the bare fucking minimum.” She releases my shoulders and leans against the counter, one hand rubbing her belly absently. “Why not think of it as a loan? An investment in your future success. When this place is making money, which we both know it will, you pay him back every cent with interest if it makes you feel better.”
“The contracts run for five years—”
“When this place is making money hand over fist, that will feel like pocket change.” Siena shrugs. “You’re 34 years old, Sophie. You have time. But you don’t have another month to waste hiding here, perfecting risotto that no one will ever eat.”
She’s right. I hate that she’s right, but she is.
“I don’t know where to start.” I trail off, trying not to sound as lost as I feel.
“Opening night,” Siena says. “Let’s set a date and work backwards from there. What do you need?”
I look around the kitchen at the gleaming equipment, the perfectly positioned stations, the wall of windows letting in afternoon light.
What do I need?
“Six weeks,” I hear myself say. “I need six weeks.”
Siena’s smile is proud. “Then let’s get to work.”
52
Vin
The Edge is all concrete floors, steel beams, and thick rusting chains. Screams don’t carry here, which makes it perfect for our purposes.
Aurelio sits in the center of one of our biggest rooms, zip-tied to a metal chair. Even bound and bleeding, he’s got that smug fucking smile on his face, the one that’s made me want to put my fist through his teeth since I was 12 years old.
“You look like shit,figlio mio,” he says, his thick Italian accent dripping with mockery. “What’s wrong? The crown too heavy already?”
I don’t answer. Matti stands to my left, Tommy to my right. They’ve been watching me all night like I’m a bomb about to go off. Maybe I am. I haven’t slept in days. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but drink and think about—
I shove the thought away before her face can form in my mind.
“Vin,” Matti says quietly. “You good?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Tommy adds. “You look like you’re about to—”
“I said I’m fine.” I know I’m too loud to be convincing. They exchange a look, and it makes me want to break something.
Aurelio laughs, a wet, phlegmy sound that makes me want to vomit. “Oh, this is beautiful,beautiful. You’re falling apart and you’re not even boss yet.” He spits blood on the concrete. “What happened to my ice-cold son? People say you’ve been fucking that little Bellamorteputtana. I hope that isn’t the cause of this little breakdown I see.”
