Page 7 of Unlock My Heart

“Sorry, but you said it yourself: There are no saints.”

We reach my apartment, and the lawyer parks at the curb. “Sure you couldn’t give me a hint?” he tries one last time.

“Sorry, but you’re already indebted to me.” I pat his cheek. “One of these days, I’ll be in touch about that favor.” I swipe a business card from the console before climbing out of the vehicle.

Calm and collected, I feel anything but as I hurry inside my apartment and set my plan into motion.

A ride share drops me off at Hotel D’Amico, and I step out of the vehicle and adjust my dress—the red one that just so happened to be Fabien’s favorite. My heart pounds like a snare, but I refuse to give the alley a second look as I enter the lounge and march to the back.

Rapping my knuckles on Michele’s door, he beckons me inside his office. “Sienna. This is a surprise.” He moves around his desk, taking my hands into his. Hands that are neither big nor strong, with no sexy bulging veins in sight.

That seals the deal.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal, Michele, and I accept.”

“Yeah?” He smiles triumphantly.

“Yeah.” I breathe. “Let’s go to the courthouse right now and make it official.”

Fabian’s already made a fool out of me, and I’ll be damned if he makes me a liar.

Chapter One

Sienna

The present

Over the rim of my cocktail glass, I watch as party guests lick boot according to the Calvani family hierarchy.

My husband says something animatedly with a cigar hanging from his mouth, his crew surrounding him. Holding court like the king Michele wishes he could be. He cracks an idiotic joke, and everyone laughs.

Years of practice is the only thing keeping my eyes from rolling. Instead, I cast my gaze in the opposite direction. The only other person at this party who looks as miserable as I feel is, ironically enough, the boss. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen Angelo Calvani smile.

“Angelo!” My husband crosses the courtyard and greets the don with a kiss on each cheek. “Let your hair down and have a good time.” He slaps Angelo on his shoulders. “This is a party, not a funeral.”

My imagination takes over, and I envision the boss pulling out his gun and blowing off my darling husband’s head. Sadly, the birthday party doesn’t morph into a wake; Angelo excuses himself to the other side of the courtyard, his Ukrainian bodyguard trailing along.

Never count on a Calvani to save the day. Take that one to the fucking bank.

“Sienna, there you are!” A fellow capo’s wife greets me with a double cheek kiss. I’d like to say we’re kindred souls, but I’d just as soon jab my drink stirrer through my tongue than converse with this woman. “Still no baby announcement after all these years? You poor thing!” With an exaggerated pout, she cradles her pregnant belly.

“And look at you. You’re what, eight months pregnant? Don’t tell me you’re having twins? How fabulous!” This bitch goes low, I’ll take it to hell.

“I’m three months pregnant,” she says tightly. “With one baby.”

“Ohhhh. My mistake.” I glance over her shoulder as the chef wheels out the cake.

Uh-oh.

“Excuse me.” With a tight smile, I hustle to the chef, corralling him back inside the house. “Take those candles off right now.”

“I’m sorry?”

With the toss of my drink, I begin ripping them out with both hands; fifty in total. “No birthday candles.” Because heaven forbid anyone suggest my husband is getting old. “Smooth the frosting with a knife.”

“Yes, Mrs. D’Amico.”

Crisis averted, I wipe frosting off my fingers and plaster on a fake smile before rejoining the party. My eyes lock with Michele’s, and he jerks his head.