Chapter 7
Sienna
After holding it together long enough to offer Mom, Dad, and Bianca comfort, I rush to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
My lungs instantly seize, cutting off the precious air I desperately need.
Riccardo’s been shot. Oh my God!
The words are carved into my soul, merciless and painfully slowly. My heart stutters before slamming hard enough against my ribs to make me feel dizzy.
Stumbling a step forward, fear coils tight in my stomach, sharp and feral, sinking its claws deep into me.
I begin to pace my bedroom like a trapped animal, and every time I turn, the walls feel closer. The air is too thick, pressing into my body until it feels like I’m being crushed to death.
I lift a trembling hand to my chest as if I can physically stop my heart from tearing itself apart.
Riccardo.
A wail rips loose from me. All the fear that’s haunted me for years, telling me I’ll lose everyone until I’m left with nothing but bloodstained memories, is becoming a reality. It’s a tormenting force that devours every rational thought.
I can’t lose my baby brother. He’s only twenty-seven. He just got married. This is supposed to be the happiest time of his life.
My vision tunnels, the edges darkening, and panic surges hotter and crueler than before through me.
Flashes of when I thought Christiano was dead bombard me, mixing with the storm created by the attack on my little brother.
When my legs give out, I collapse onto the bed, my fingers clawing at the sheets like they can anchor me to reality. I curl into a fetal position while my breaths hitch and sobs tear loose from my tight chest.
I’m assaulted by one memory after another.
Riccardo’s smile. His voice. His laughter.
The body beneath the white sheet. Christiano’s bloody jacket. The destructive agony when I thought he was gone.
The possibility that we might lose Riccardo twists like a blade into my pounding heart, deeper and deeper until I feel my sanity fraying. Fear drives me toward the edge like it did all those years ago.
Shaking violently, I wrap my arms around myself and try to hold onto the last of my sanity, because if I don’t, I’ll be consumed by the horrible emotions devouring me.
My blood roars in my ears as I groan into the covers.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
My anxiety spikes dangerously high, becoming relentless and suffocating until fear is all I am.
Alone in my bedroom, trapped inside my own terror, I break apart, piece by piece, praying to all that’s holy, Riccardo won’t die.
I have no idea how much time passes until a faint shudder works its way through me, my body shedding the last remnants of panic in slow, uncoordinated waves.
I try to turn onto my side, but my muscles don’t listen. Every movement is sluggish, like I’m pushing through mud that keeps trying to pull me under. My arms feel heavy and foreign.
I hate this state.
I hate the helplessness of being trapped inside my own body, screaming orders it refuses to obey.
I hate how powerless I feel beneath my own skin, all my emotions trapped under the fog pressing down on my chest.
Women like me aren’t allowed to break, yet I fracture into a million pieces every time something bad happens.
We’re raised to be strong, taught that weakness isn’t allowed in the Cosa Nostra.
Where fear gives the other women power and control, forging them into strong queens who rule beside their men, it does the opposite to me.
It unravels me until I’m barely sane, while reducing me to a fragile woman who will never be an asset to a man like Christiano.
The drugs I took before I passed out hum through my veins.
Mom and Dad.
Wanting to check on my parents, I use all my strength to shift to the end of the bed, but before I can get up, the door opens. Mom comes in, her face blotchy from crying, and taking a seat beside me, she caresses my hair.
My lips part, but she speaks first. “Gianna just called. Riccardo’s surgery went well. Augusto is almost in Tokyo, then we’ll know more.”
I wrap my arms around Mom and lean my weight into her. A sob bursts from her, and she grips me tightly.
Even though I’m a mess, it brings me some peace knowing I can comfort my mother.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Just having you and Bianca here helps a lot.” Mom pulls back and gives me a watery smile. “I’ve taken one of your Xanax, so I don’t lose my mind from worrying.”
I hug her again, and knowing she needs to hear the words, I say, “Riccardo is strong. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”
Pulling back once more, her eyes drift over my face. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” I lie because the last thing she needs right now is to worry about me. She’s done enough of that for far too long.
It’s one of the reasons I’m moving out. Then I can have my meltdowns in the privacy of my own home.
Being around the Cosa Nostra constantly only reminds me of how volatile our world is and how fast I can lose a loved one.
“Girls, come downstairs,” Dad calls out.
“Maybe your father has received more news,” Mom says with hope in her voice as she darts up and hurries out of my bedroom.
I climb off the bed and stop by my dressing table so I can pull a brush through my hair before I go to the living room.
“We appreciate it,” I hear Dad say.
When the couches come into view, my feet stop dead in their tracks. Christiano’s eyes instantly lock on me, and as he rises to his full height, a chill spreads over my body.
I take in his usual black pants and dress shirt, the fabric tight against his body and following every curve and bulge of his muscles. My eyes flick over his fresh wounds.
A raw burn stretches over the side of his neck, and there’s a cut through his right eyebrow. There’s also bruising on his jaw and cheek.
My lips part with a gasp, and pain slices ruthlessly through me.
Seeing my reaction to him being hurt, the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.
With the confidence of a God, he crosses the living room to me.
Not caring that my family's attention is focused on us, he wraps an arm around my waist with a remorseless certainty of a man who never asks permission, before I’m pulled flush against his solid body.
He clearly doesn’t give a shit about consent, which worries me greatly.
What if Christiano decides to take me, not giving me the option to say no? As time passes, he’s becoming more ruthless, and one day, he might not care about tearing the Cosa Nostra apart.
Don’t be stupid. Nothing is more important to him than the family. He’ll find the woman of his dreams, and he’ll get over his feelings for me.
With his other hand, he grips hold of my chin, and forcing my head to tilt back, he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. Just like every other time he’s taken liberties with me, his lips pause against my skin. I know he feels the tremble moving through me.
Yeah, you keep lying to yourself, Sienna. A man like him doesn’t know the meaning of giving up, and he’s made it very clear he wants you and no one else.
Christiano takes a deep breath of my scent, and it feels as if he’s savoring it. Eventually, his mouth drifts down my temple and cheek until he reaches my ear. “I’m sorry about Riccardo. How are you doing?”
Intense tingles rush over my body, and my heart begins to hammer against my ribs for a whole different reason. Even after all this time, the attraction I feel for him only continues to get stronger, which is a big worry.
The moment is way too intimate for me to handle. My hands shoot up, and pushing against his chest, I try to put some distance between us.
Thankfully, he lets go, and I’m able to take a couple of steps away from him.
My tongue feels heavy as my answer leaves my lips way too quickly. “I’m okay. You didn’t have to come over.”
Again, the corner of his mouth lifts, and tilting his head in a predatory way, he captures my eyes and holds them imprisoned for a very intense few seconds.
Anxiety spikes in my chest, making my breaths come faster.
“Will you be staying for dinner?” Dad asks, causing tension to coil in my stomach.
I don’t think I can handle an entire dinner with Christiano. Not tonight.
“I’d love to,” he replies, his tone loaded with all the power he holds as the head of the Cosa Nostra. His eyes never leave my face, and it gives me the impression he’s silently daring me to say something.
It’s seldom that I get angry, but he knows how I feel, and just because he’s agreed to stay for dinner doesn’t mean I have to hang around.
“I hope you all enjoy the evening,” I say, a forced, polite smile on my face. “I’ve already made plans with Raya.”
The lie comes easily, and only Mom sees through it, but luckily, she quickly schools her face. “Keep your phone on you in case we hear anything about Riccardo.”
“I will.”
Needing to get away from Christiano’s intense dominance, I leave the living room as fast as possible without running. As I grab my handbag, where it’s lying on the side table near the front door, I hear Christiano say, “I forgot. I have a meeting tonight. I’ll take a rain check on dinner.”
Shit. He better not stop me from going to Raya.
I head back to the living room, and smiling at my parents and Bianca, I dart through the sliding doors. As I walk down the path that leads to the garages and driveway, I hear his confident steps sounding up behind me.
Spotting my personal guard, I call out, “Alfio, I’m going to Raya’s.”
Before my guard can even think to react, Christiano orders, “Don’t bother, Alfio, I’ll take Sienna.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I don’t even know if Raya is home.
Panic flares in my chest, and I swing around to face the most stubborn man on this damn planet. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Alfio will take me. Besides, I’ll need him for when I come home, unless you want me taking a cab.”
A dark chuckle slithers from Christiano like a poisonous snake, the chilling sound making goose bumps scatter over my skin.
He only stops when a mere inch separates us, and lowering his head, his ruthless gaze burns into mine. His tone is low and threatening as he says, “Stop pushing me, princess. Either you get into the SUV, or I’ll force you. The fifteen-minute drive won’t kill you.”
Even though fear coils around my muscles, tensing them, I somehow lift my chin higher and hiss, “I beg to differ.”
His already dark expression turns angry as he jerks his head toward his SUV.
Jesus.
Staring at the rage on his face, my heartbeat speeds up and my mouth grows dry. I haven’t seen the look before, which tells me whatever self-restraint Christiano has had up until now is gone.
Oh my God. He’s even more dangerous than I thought.
He’s unhinged.