Page 117 of Unlock My Heart

“Sienna, what can I get you as a wedding gift?” Alessandra asks me.

“A platter to display my husband’s severed head,” I tell her, and Fabien laughs softly.

“You need a bowl instead of a platter; a severed head is a lot more bloody than you think and would sort of ooze off a flat surface.”

“Thank you, Al. We’ll see you tomorrow night.” Fabien ends the call with an amused breath.

“Alessandra forgot that she wasn’t supposed to tell me about the you-know-what,” I say with a wry smile.

Fabien watches me, rubbing the palm of his hand over his chest.

“What?” I say wearily.

He shakes his head.

A heavy sigh escapes me as I find a good spot to take a break. Placing my bobbins gently down on the coffee table, I glance over to him. “If you and Angelo are at war, is an out-of-state ‘date night’ the smartest move?”

“We aren’t at war; not anymore.” He returns his arm over the top of my seat, and I shift to avoid his touch.

“Then why did he kidnap me?” I press him.

“Leverage. Angelo thought I was gunning for him; I thought he was gunning for me.”

“You weren’t? He wasn’t?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes and no,” Fabien admits. “My brother and I are working on the details of a truce, and I’m working on finding my backstabbing former cellie.”

“Who?” My eyebrows lift, playing dumb, but this has to be the Kirksey connection.

“Name’s Kirksey,” Fabien confirms. “He thought he could play me; as his prize, he’s won a bullet with his name on it.”

“Why would he cross you?” I wonder, curious about their dynamic.

“Kirksey thinks he’s going to take over NOLA.” Fabien snorts. “Not fucking happening.”

That remains to be seen, but I keep my Kirksey connection to myself. “So there isn’t peace yet, and your enemy hasn’t been taken out yet,” I sum up. “That’s a lot of yets.”

Fabien lifts a shoulder. “Yet I’m a patient man.”

That elicits a chortle out of me. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve had nearly a decade of practice.”

I’m reminded why he had nearly a decade of practice, and I dart my attention out the window.

“Despite it all, I’d still put that bullet in Ringer’s head,” he promises.

“It doesn’t change anything.” I swallow the lump in my throat.

“It changes everything,” he counters, jerking me by my chin to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t ask me if I wanted a wedding reception.” The only thing I can change right now is the subject.

“Do you want a wedding reception?”

I shrug out of his hold. “No.”

He chuckles. “That’s why I didn’t ask you. How do you know Remi?”