Page 110 of Unlock My Heart

We arrive home, and I follow Sienna inside to a waiting Lacey. My wife gives the dog a scratch behind the ears before continuing down the hallway.

I go to follow her, but Sienna throws up her hand. “I’m taking a nap. Don’t follow me unless you consider your balls dispensable.”

They’re not, so I don’t follow.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sienna

The present

It wasn’t exactly a lie; I do plan on taking a nap.

Having been given eavesdropping pointers by Alessandra years ago, I plaster my ear against Fabien’s office door.

“The woman you saw with your sister after the Kirksey fiasco, that was Remi Landry, your brother’s girlfriend,” Saint says, and my jaw falls open.

Sweet as sugar Remi Landry is Angelo’s girlfriend?

“Word is they’re quite serious, and he’s crazy about her.”

“My brother?” The shock in Fabien’s voice mimics my own. “Never thought stick-up-his-ass Angelo would be crazy about anything other than spreadsheets.”

Agreed.

“And the bobcat is actually her house cat,” Saint continues.

I shudder. Better hers than mine.

“That wasn’t a fucking house cat,” Fabien corrects Saint, and I hate that I’m agreeing so much with my husband.

Current husband!

“Meeting’s set with Angelo and the capos tomorrow at three o’clock at the Garden District house.”

“You really think your brother will give up the throne without bloodshed?” Saint wonders.

“Honest to God, I don’t know what to think at this point,” Fabien admits. “Not after Kirksey fucked me over. And as much as I hate it, I need the family behind me to help take that fucker out. He’s gone to ground, and I need all hands on deck.”

I cover my own hands over my mouth and slowly tiptoe away from the office. Hurrying to the bathroom, I lock the door, my heart pounding out of my chest as I retrieve the hidden cellphone and power it up, hitting the programmed number.

Kirksey answers on the first ring. “Sienna, I knew I’d hear from⁠—”

“Two million in cash, and you’ve got a deal.”

I’m so tired of being the victim of my story, I’ve decided to become the villain of the Calvani’s story.

Quietly moving to my room, I crawl into bed and drift to sleep, with images of a shovel and freshly broken ground.

A real nap did nothing for my headspace; I’m still feeling out of sorts when I rouse. Needing to burn off whatever these feelings are, I change into a tanktop and leggings, and make my way to the home gym.

Rolling out a yoga mat, I begin with a few sun salutations. Years ago, my therapist suggested yoga to help ground me. Didn’t work then, so I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s not helping now.

“Damn, your cute little toes. That needs to go on the list.”

My nose wrinkles as I rise to standing, hating the way my eyes land on a shirtless Fabien and his fox tattoo. And unfortunately, lower, to athletic shorts that fail to hide his sizable bulge. “Don’t tell me you’re into feet now.” I cringe.

Fabien’s mood shifts from playful to lethal. “What did you have to do when you were madam?”