3. Siena
Siena
O NE WEEK LATER
The wind nips at my cheeks as I navigate the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan’s Financial District. Clutching my paper coffee cup with both hands, I savor the warmth and take a sip.
I missed the transition from summer to fall, and any day now, it will be winter.
It’s the only sign that life has changed or moved on.
In every other way, my life feels like it’s at a standstill.
This is the first time I’ve left the house in a week, but I needed that time for the bruises to fade, the cuts to heal, and to just lie in bed and piece together everything that happened.
Pushing open the glass door of the Victim Advocacy Center, I’m greeted by the familiar jingle of the bell announcing my arrival.
The sound is comforting. The small reception desk sits empty as usual, and the office space beyond it is divided into a grid of cubicles, their walls too high to see over unless you’re standing right next to them .
“I’ll be with you in a second!” A voice rings out from the back, and relief floods through me. For the first time in weeks, I feel a little lighter, like I’m stepping into a safe space.
When Amelia, my boss, rounds the corner and spots me, her face lights up, and she closes the distance between us in two bounding steps.
“Oh my God!” she shrieks. “Thank God, thank God! Oh my God—Blake! Blake!”
She turns back toward the cubicles, shouting for our coworker, and then wraps me in a bear hug so fierce it knocks the lid off my coffee, spilling it on my sweater and on the floor.
“Hey, good to see you too,” I say, laughing as I hug her back just as hard.
“Oh shit, I made a mess,” she mutters, pulling away.
Her dark red curls are pulled back in a low pony and she’s wearing one of her usual jeans and sweater combos with minimal makeup obscuring her freckles.
She ducks behind the reception desk to grab paper towels, her eyes never leaving me.
“Siena, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling nonstop.
I went to your house. I filed a missing person’s report. I’ve been so worried!”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I hesitate, realizing I haven’t thought through what to tell her. Or what to leave out. “It was…out of my control.”
Blake’s head pops up from a cubicle like a meerkat. The moment he sees me, he lets out a dramatic squeal.
“Biiiiittttccchhhhh!” He barrels toward us, skidding to a halt just in front of me barely regaining control of his round body before crashing into the desk.
His grin twists into a mock-serious glare, his short brown hair sticking up in all directions, his brown eyes twinkling.
“You got some explaining to do. We’ve been worrying our fat asses off.
Look at me!” He spins theatrically, pointing to his backside.
“I lost fifteen pounds of ass worrying about you, then gained thirty back eating my feelings!”
I laugh, genuinely this time, and Amelia swats at him with the wad of paper towels before pulling me into another hug. “Okay, come back to my office and tell me everything.”
Blake grabs my hand, escorting me like a gallant knight.
“Girl, you have no idea what you’ve been missing.
Remember Alexandra Hayes? That fierce lawyer we used to work with?
Some thugs stormed her office and fucked everybody up.
Like, no survivors. The cops have no idea who did it or why. Total clusterfuck.”
I hope the sick expression on my face looks like the shock and surprise he expects. I can’t believe all those people died because of me. “Holy shit,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Shit, yes. Holy, no. Only the devil himself could’ve done something that brutal,” Blake says, giving me a look that all but begs me to ask for details, but I just can’t.
Thankfully, Amelia comes to my rescue. “Blake, leave her alone. Girl, get in here.” She pushes open the door to her office.
Blake kisses the back of my hand sweetly and gives me a wink. “Missed you, bitch.”
I gingerly settle into the chair across from Amelia’s desk, wincing as my back makes contact.
There is still deep bruising along my spine, and the stitches in my shoulder haven’t yet dissolved.
Thankfully, the swelling has gone down, and the yellowed bruises above my clothing line are hidden under makeup .
Amelia watches me with concern, then lifts her eyes to make a face at Blake, who slides into her office behind me. “You okay?” she asks gently.
I nod. “It’s been… well, it’s been a week, if you know what I mean.”
She scoffs. “Please. It’s been a month.”
“More like six weeeeks,” Blake sing-songs from behind me.
Amelia scowls at him and he mimics her, giving her an exaggerated grimace and scrunching his nose at her before they both turn back to me with soft smiles. God, I missed them so much.
“Yes, more than a month, Siena,” Amelia says sternly. “You were supposed to head out for a few days off, not for a sabbatical. What happened?”
I fill her in on the details relevant to why I missed work, focusing on Emily’s death and going down to South Carolina.
I don’t mention Matti, Aurelio, or anything to do with Franco.
I don’t even know how to talk about any of that.
Even with those omissions, Blake blows out a breath every so often and a whispered, “ugh, no , bitch,” as I share my story.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I should have,” I say, genuinely. I really should have once I was home and able. She’s an amazing boss and a good friend, and I know she was worried.
Amelia grips my hand tightly. “I get it. We were worried out of our minds, don’t get me wrong, but I get it. I’m so sorry for your loss, Siena.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure you hired someone else, but is there any chance that I could help out around here while I look for another job?”
Blake squeals and claps a hand over his mouth. Amelia glares at him and points at the door. “Get. Out. ”
He throws his hands up in surrender, backing out of the room with a grin. “Okay, but oh, Amelia—say ‘yes,’ girl. Say ‘yes!’”
“Out!” She rolls her eyes as he leaves and sighs, turning her attention back to me.
“You’re always welcome here, Siena. You know I’m not going to let you go work anywhere else.
But are you sure you’re ready? There’s no rush.
You’ve gone through trauma, and you never know what horrific story the next client is going to bring in that could trigger you.
You could easily go from fine to fucked up in a minute. ”
“I’m ready,” I say firmly. “Wallowing at home isn’t helping. I need to focus on something positive, help someone else, and get out of my head.”
Her lips quirk into a small smile. “Alright. But take it slow. If you need time—if you need anything —just say the word. But no more disappearing acts, got it?”
“Got it.”
She leans back, grinning. “Welcome back, bitch.”
I laugh, feeling more like myself than I have in weeks. Maybe, just maybe, things will start to feel normal again. Or as close to normal as I can get without Emily.
As Amelia walks me back to my old desk, filling me in on some of the cases they’re working on, the bell rings as someone opens the front door. I look up to see a large man walk in. He’s tall with thick muscles, brown hair brushed back. A jolt shoots through me as his bright blue eyes meet mine.
It’s not Matti. A wave of nausea hits as the man smiles at me, and I replace it in my mind with Matti smiling at me the last time he kissed me. The mental image of his face shifts and twists into the hard glare he gave me when he kicked me out of his house a week ago, and I shudder.
Shaking my head to rid myself of the image, I turn my attention back to Amelia as she chatters on.
Fucking trauma bond bullshit. I’m only feeling attached to Matti because he’s so deeply entwined with Emily’s death.
Not letting him go is really just me not wanting to let her go.
But I have to. I have to let them both go.
And coming back to work is the first step to making that happen.