Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
A sudden, sick thought strikes me. What if Gianna only hired me out of guilt? Maybe she knows what her son did, and that’s why she’s been so kind to me.
It doesn’t ring true. None of this does.
I sit up, smoothing my hands up and down my legs, my heart pounding heavily. It’s been – I look at the clock – hours since Nico was here. All I’ve done is shower and sit here, thinking about what I should do.
They’ve been so, so kind to me. The portraits, the banter, the connection. The sex. The longing. The commitment. All of it seemed so real. Now, it’s like my world is imploding again.
But if Nico killed my mom, the last thing I should do is protect him. I should hate him. It hasn’t even been a long time. I’m not some ditsy, silly, misguided girl, am I?
I think about this logically. I’ve still got some cash even after I bought that absurdly expensive outfit. I rented the dress. Gianna offered to pay, but I didn’t want to take a handout, so I saved money there. The most logical route for me to take is to plant the device, give the Bratva what they want, and then leave Dallas and never look back.
My heart hurts just thinking about that. I’ve always tried to be – and wanted to be – a woman who isn’t led by her emotions. In my art, I’ll let my feelings fly, but in real life, I’ve had to be focused, independent. But it’s not like that now.
My heart screams for Nico. Nico is the one who hurt me, betrayed me, and yet he’s the one I want to talk to about this.
I grab the device from the bedside drawer, sitting up. I have to do this. I don’t want to, but that’s nothing new. I didn’t want to work a series of dead-end jobs. I didn’t want Mom to die. I didn’t want to be a weird loner in high school who spent all her time lost in a world of sketches and fantasies.
Leaving the bedroom in a baggy T-shirt, I sneak down the stairs. The device clutched tightly in my hand. Nerves twist through me. I seriously have no desire to do this.
What will happen if Nico and Gianna are caught on tape?
I step into the kitchen. It’s a large, luxurious space with three light switches. I turn on the mood lighting, the dimmest light they have, and then walk around the kitchen island, looking for a place to put the device.
“Sienna?”
I freeze when Nico walks into the room. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of workout shorts. His body looks huge, muscles bulging, expression severe, as if he knows what I’m doing somehow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nuh-nothing.”
“Then why do you look so terrified? What are you doing down here so late?”
“Getting a glass of water.”
He walks to the other side of the kitchen island. I hold the device under the island so that he can’t see it.
“Try saying that like it’s the truth,” he says stiffly.
“Why would I lie about something like that?”
“I don’t know, but when I heard you walk past my bedroom door, I knew something was wrong.”
“How?”
“Instinct.”
I roll my eyes. “Your instinct extends to creaking floorboards, does it?”
“In this case, it seems that it does. But there’s something else. When we spoke earlier, you had this look in your eye… it was like you genuinely hated me, Sienna. I’ve never seen you look at me like that before.”
“You say never like we’ve known each other for years.”
“It feels like that to me.”
“How romantic,” I reply sarcastically.
When he walks around the island, I move in the other direction, keeping the island between us at all times so he won’t see the recording device.
“Now you’re really making me suspicious. Show me your hands.”
“Do you think I’ve got a gun or something?”
“Show me your hands, Sienna. Now.”
Nerves constrict my throat. But even when his tone is dark, it’s difficult to believe he’s the man who killed my mom.
I raise my hands.
“What’s that?”
“A bug. A recording device.”
“What the fuck?” he growls, walking hurriedly around the island.
He grips my arms, his hurt expression even worse than before. “You’re spying on us?”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” I back away from him. “You’re the one who killed my mom.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nico
When she says I killed her mom, it’s a struggle to accept what my ears are hearing. I grip her arms again, hold her in place. She stares at me with a confused expression, a hint of affection still in her eyes, but something else there, too. Rage. Hate. Pain.
“Explain. Now.”
“You’re the one who needs to explain,” she snaps. “Did you or did you not kill my mom?”
“I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even involved in that hit – on either side. I had nothing to do with it. When that hit happened, I wasn’t the Don of the Family. My brother, Luka, was. Why would I be there? Listen to yourself. You think I would hurt an innocent woman?”