Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sienna
I walk into the kitchen to find Nico talking quietly with a familiar-looking young man. He wears a shiny silver suit with his hair slicked back.
Nico seems withdrawn, distant. Likely, he doesn’t want this man to know how he feels about me… if he feels anything. “Sienna, I’m sorry, but we have to leave. Business.”
Also known as… mob stuff.
“Our painting session is done for today, anyway,” I say, like it’s no big deal.
“Uh, cousin?” The young man cuts in.
Nico frowns. “Sienna, this is Adrian, my cousin. You’ve met.”
Adrian swaggers over, grinning at me. “Sort of. Nice to meet you… officially. You’re the special lady who put a smile on my cousin’s face at the Vine, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Uh…”
“We’re leaving,” Nico says stiffly, almost dragging Adrian from the room.
I watch Nico go, then stop when I realize Gianna is staring at me from the other side of the island. She’s dressed glamorously, her hair in an intricate updo.
“I can arrange a ride home for you… Or, if you like, you could accompany me to the Majestic.”
“The Majestic?”
“It’s a theater. There’s a one-woman show that’s supposed to be simply divine. Unless you have plans?”
“My plans don’t seem to be worth much lately.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I should collect my things. I don’t want to leave the canvas in the sun for too long.”
It would probably be fine to leave it outside, but I need some time to think. What I told Gianna is true. My plans aren’t very sturdy as of late. One job… failed. One night… failed. And now I can’t stop thinking about what we just did, the heat, the closeness of his hand down my pants.
When I return to the kitchen, Gianna asks, “So, what do you think about the play? It’s about a woman who leaves her life in New York, her family, her job, and tries to start anew. Apparently, it has interesting things to say about living independently as a woman, finding true love, and the search for a family.”
She’s looking at me like there’s a hint buried in there. I should tell her no. The last thing I need is to watch a play that sounds like it mirrors my life.
But I like Gianna, even if something as simple as liking her could lead me down the wrong road… a road I’ve already walked down too many times.
“Unless you have plans?” she says hesitantly.
“No, I don’t have anything for the rest of the day. Your…” Money, I almost say, but it seems rude somehow. “Generosity has given me more free time than I know what to do with. I’d probably touch up the painting and then…”
And then sit around, pondering her son.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Yes!” I’m excited. Sue me. “But I should probably find something classier to wear, right? I feel underdressed.” I look down at my partially torn shirt. Thankfully, as an artist, I can get away with dressing a little unconventionally.
“I think you look beautiful, but if you like, we can go on a quick shopping spree before the show. We’ll make an afternoon of it.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to eat up too much of your time.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “I’d much rather go with you than alone.”
“A woman like you, I thought you’d have lots of friends to go with.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” she says.
* * *
“Do you think it looks okay?” I ask, standing in front of the mirror, a strange, surreal feeling hitting me as I turn this way and that.
Gianna stands behind me, seeming much more at ease in the high-class store. “Okay? You look sublime, transcendental. You need to get this.”
“The entire outfit?”
Gianna pouts at me in the mirror. “Did you think we were playing dress up for fun?”
I study myself again. I’m wearing a matte black silk crepe midi dress. The shop assistant described the style as a ‘fit-and-flare silhouette’. Whatever it is, I love how it hugs the contours of my body without clinging. The neckline shows collarbone, no cleavage, and it cuts at my calves… but somehow, it’s still sexy.
Combined with the rest of the outfit – suede pointed heels, a dark oxblood clutch bag, and a thin gold chain to complement the cut of the dress – I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel exceptional.
"Maybe just the dress," I murmur.
Gianna gasps melodramatically. "I won't tolerate such sacrilege. You need the entire ensemble. It's beautiful... no, that's insufficient. This outfit, Sienna, accentuates your natural radiance."
"The entire outfit is six thousand and twenty-three dollars," I say flatly. "I'm not getting it all."
"Then let me?—"
"No," I interject. "Thank you, Gianna. I appreciate your kindness. But I refuse handouts. You've already been exceptionally generous with your payments for my artwork."
"That is not generosity," she says fiercely. "You've earned every penny I paid you. I'm not speaking to hear my own voice or merely showering you with hollow compliments, sweet girl. You possess extraordinary talent."
"Either way, I don't accept handouts."
"Then purchase it yourself," Gianna says with a note of challenge in her voice. "You can afford it... and remember, you've got more substantial payments coming, dear. You should indulge yourself."
I examine my reflection again. I'd be lying to myself if I denied wanting it. It's effortless to envision Nico approaching from behind, encircling my waist, holding me close as he devours my reflection with his eyes.
I inhale deeply. Am I seriously contemplating this? This wasn't part of my plan.
It seems that abandoning the script has become my specialty.
"Okay, I'm doing it. I'm buying the whole outfit!"
* * *
After the play, we venture to a bar called The Midnight Rambler. Yellow mood lighting enhances the ambiance... and the euphoric atmosphere of the afternoon. When I approach the bar with Gianna beside me, adorned in my brand-spanking-new outfit, I feel an undeniable sense of belonging.
We order two glasses of champagne and claim a corner seat. "Cheers," Gianna says, extending her glass.
I clink my glass against hers, feeling sophisticated, stubbornly anchored in the present moment.
"What did you think of the play?" Gianna inquires.
"It was perplexing," I murmur.
"Really? Which part?"
"The entire narrative seemed to revolve around her determination to adhere to the lessons and values her family instilled in New York, yet by the conclusion, she appears ecstatic to forge her own path, establish her independence. It's as though she abandons her family entirely."
"Or perhaps she decided she needn't remain enslaved to her family's values. She craves autonomy."
I reach into my clutch bag, squeeze the pendant, as if attempting to invoke Mom's presence and maintain my resolve. But the more time I spend with these people, the more my conviction wavers.
"Did you relate to the play?" Gianna asks.
"Why would you ask that?" I reply, my tone excessively harsh.
"You seemed deeply engrossed in it."
"She was a compelling actor. And yes, perhaps I recognized myself in her. Sometimes I feel torn between prioritizing my mother's wishes and pursuing my happiness."
"Torn, how?"
I scoff. "You don't want to delve into that."
"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."
I regard her seriously. "You genuinely don't," I insist. "It involves you and Nico."
"Now I have to know."
"I'll offend you."
"Pfft. I’m remarkably difficult to offend. It infuriated my late husband. He could hurl the most despicable insults at me, and they wouldn't penetrate."
"Why would he say anything despicable to you?"
"Because not every man possesses the gentleness of my Nico."
I take a large sip of champagne, then confess, "I'm unsure how much you know about your son's business."
"I know enough details," Gianna replies.
"My mom was killed in a mob confrontation. She wasn't even involved. She wasn't entangled in the conflict, the war, whatever it was. She was simply living her life – until she wasn't. And now..." The champagne has loosened my tongue, but unburdening myself feels almost therapeutic. "I'm trapped. Because Nico, he's... well, I'm attracted to him, okay?" When Gianna smiles, I snap, "You shouldn't look so pleased about that. I can't allow myself to like him. It feels morally wrong. He's embedded in the mob."
Gianna flinches, scanning our surroundings, then relaxes upon confirming our privacy. "It isn't what you might presume, dear."
"So he isn't entangled with the mob?"
Gianna's demeanor changes. She leans forward with intense seriousness. "If what you're suggesting is accurate, you understand there would be severe consequences if you weren't who you claim to be..."
"Excuse me?"
"If you were an undercover agent, for instance."
I laugh. This conversation has suddenly veered into surreal territory. But Gianna remains solemn.
"Consequences?" I echo.
"In this world, certain matters elude even Nico's and my control. Betrayal is one of them."
"I'm not a rat," I assure her. "Wait – what do you mean, you and Nico control?"
Gianna sips her champagne deliberately. "I'm fond of you, Sienna. In fact, I'm genuinely drawn to you. I noticed something distinctive about you immediately. It transcended the portrait, your artistic prowess. It was... your luminosity. You captivated my son."
"I captivated him?"
"When I saw the way he gazed at you, I recognized something unprecedented. That's why I'm inclined to reveal the truth. But I need assurance that you'll maintain absolute confidentiality. With everyone. Permanently."
"Or face consequences," I state.
"I wouldn't let anyone harm you, dear, but you'd need to leave Dallas. You'd need to abandon Texas, possibly even the country."
"You still haven't articulated anything that makes sense."
"If you're attracted to Nico, don't let this mob perception deter you. He's not who you evidently believe him to be."
"He's not a Don?"
Gianna surveys the bar before continuing, "The fact I'm even contemplating sharing any of this with you shows how exceptional you are, Sienna. I'm not suggesting you should feel grateful or impressed, or... anything. But I want you to understand, despite our brief acquaintance, I value you. Your artistry, certainly, and you as an individual."
I resist the urge to let her words flatter or disarm me. I’m trying to remember who I am: the way my mother died. The blood. The agony, physical for her, psychological for me. But in this moment, Gianna exudes vulnerability and empathy.
"I like you too," I admit awkwardly.
"My son is the Don, and I serve as his consigliere... his second-in-command."
Fortunately, the music in the bar is loud enough, as my audible gasp would have attracted attention otherwise. "What?"
She nods. "It's difficult to explain?—"
"Try," I interject.
"It would mean discussing our history somewhat."
"I have nowhere pressing to be."
Gianna nods. "Very well. The Family – that's with a capital F – was previously governed by my husband, and subsequently my late son, Luka. Both differed significantly from Nico."
"In what manner?"
"Nico has a compassionate heart. Don't misinterpret me – and I won't lie to you – Nico can summon the necessary fortitude when circumstances demand, but he takes no pleasure from inflicting pain. He doesn't harm innocents. He doesn't revel in saturating the streets with filth that virtually guarantees overdoses. He genuinely abhors the entire business, truthfully."
"Yet he remains involved, nonetheless."
"I'm getting to that," Gianna says.
I gesture for her to go on.
"When his father died," she continues, "Nico declined leadership of the Family. He wanted nothing to do with it. From an early age, he was like that. He dreamed of attending college, leading a normal life. And for years, he did just that. Luka was the heir; Nico was the spare. Nico established himself as a hedge fund manager. He maintained minimal communication with his father and brother."
"Why – because they differed from his principles?"
"Nico has a kind soul," Gianna says.
I suppress the urge to confess. I know. I've sensed that. I feel it when we kiss. I see it in the shadows and shades of his expressions.
Maybe all that online research and charitable activity is the real him.
"My late husband got his hooks in Luka early, molding him in his own image."
"What exactly were their activities?"
She stares at me bleakly, her mood darkening considerably. "You don't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"Sienna, I must emphasize?—"
"Jeez. I'm not a cop. Or a spy. I'm nobody significant."
"Now that’s not true."
"I simply want to understand who this man truly is," I say.
This stranger who doesn’t feel like a stranger. This man who makes me consider that perhaps I was wrong when I thought flirting and fun, and relationships weren’t for me.
"My late husband, and subsequently Luka upon assuming the Don position, flooded the city with drugs, prostitution, and extortion rackets. Collaborating with the Russians, they transformed this city into a cesspool."
"But not Nico?"
She shakes her head. "Nico was disgusted by it all. He tried to dissuade them, but they remained obstinate. Once, when he threatened to report them, my late husband..." Gianna's eyes glisten. "He threatened my life if Nico persisted. After his passing, Luka perpetuated that threat: guards monitoring me constantly, ready to eliminate me."
"Oh my God," I whisper.
"Then Luka perished in a car accident. Nico had two options: allow the Family to fall into one of Luka's equally corrupt men’s hands, or assume control himself. He opted for the latter. He worked harder than any man ever should, but he succeeded."
“Succeeded is what?"
"Purifying the city," Gianna says, awe resonating in her voice. Her pride in Nico overwhelms me, inexplicably inspiring my admiration for him. "He ended the mob conflict. He band narcotics, human trafficking, and all similar enterprises. He redirected the Family toward white-collar crime. He legitimized as many operations as feasible. I've never disclosed any of this to a civilian."
"Yes, yes, I'm extraordinarily special," I mutter sarcastically.
"You are," she replies with complete sincerity. "Nico cares about?—"
"We're practically strangers."
"Fine. But for the first time in years, Nico has the desire to connect with someone. That signifies something profound for him."
"It means something to me, too," I admit.
"Nico enlisted me to help him covertly – to maintain the city's positive trajectory. He’s devoted himself entirely to safeguarding this city, preventing corruption from infiltrating his territory. He's not a bad man. I recognize true malevolence: my husband, God help me, my eldest son. But not Nico."
"Nico told me that Russians were responsible for my mother's death. He claims that during the gunfight where she was killed, Russians were targeting an Italian. Is that true?"
"I don’t know specifics about the conflict," Gianna says somberly, "but if Nico claims it, it's indisputably true. After his brother's passing, when Nico assumed leadership, he would never sanction a hit in public. He would never harm an innocent."
The implication is hard to miss. He wouldn't harm civilians, but he would eliminate threats.
"You must think something big is going on if you've just divulged all that to a virtual stranger," I say.
She shrugs. "I can only speak for my son. And when I look at him lately, I glimpse the boy he was before discovering how twisted his father was."
I think back to the picture at the golf course, the smiling child, Nico lamenting his one-time ignorance of how lucky he was.
"What do you expect me to do regarding this information?" I ask.
"Nothing," Gianna replies. "Except... don't punish yourself. Live your own life."
More subtext. Live my life, not the one I think my mother would want for me.
I drain my champagne glass. "Since you've been so truthful, I'll reciprocate. I'm growing tired of fighting this... this connection with Nico. I can't even articulate it properly."
"Falling in love."
"Take it easy there!" I gasp, though I'm smiling.
Despite everything she's just revealed – mobsters, drugs, human trafficking – I'm smiling. Is something fundamentally wrong with me? Is my relief really so overwhelming?
"Then wipe that grin off your face, dear," Gianna says.
I try to, but it proves challenging.
"My life has improved immeasurably since Nico assumed control. The city is safer. I no longer live terrorized by threats from my husband or son. I've risked all that by speaking so candidly with you, Sienna."
"I won't betray your confidence," I murmur.
"Has it changed your perception of Nico?"
I sigh. "I don’t know how to answer that."
But that's a lie. The truth is, I want to let go. Like the woman in the play, I want to immerse myself in this new life. But apprehension holds me back. What if Gianna is lying or misinterpreting? What if, when Nico and I cease our pretenses, we discover nothing substantial beneath?
Staying single, while lonely, has its benefits. For one thing, I don’t have to answer questions like these.
“It’s not like I’m going to throw myself at his feet and declare, Let’s get married. Just because I like him, or because I’m interested, it doesn’t make him any less of a stranger.”
“When he looks at you, it’s not like he’s looking at a stranger. It’s like he’s looking at someone he’s waited a long time to meet.”
I stare down into my empty glass. “That’s sort of how I feel, too. Like I’ve been alone all this time, and now this is my chance.”
“Then take it,” Gianna says passionately.
I want to, but that doesn’t mean the guilt is going to magically disappear.