22. Sienna
SIENNA
I look up at my apartment building that I haven’t lived in for almost four months. The busy streets of New York are very different from the quiet of the island where I was held. All I can think is that what once was home, now just feels like another prison.
“I don’t like this. Anyone can see you coming and going.
Gossip might spread,” I bite as Agata, Nikolai, and I sit in the back seat of the car idling at the curb.
Nikolai sits across from me, his arms folded over his chest. Agata seems uninterested to everything that’s happening.
I wonder how many times she’s followed him blindly.
Andrei is in the front, a privacy screen separating him from us.
“You care too much what others think, little doll,” Nikolai comments. “This is all just a process. Besides, it’s not like we’ll be leaving that often, if at all. This will all be dealt with soon, then you can go back to your own version of an imprisoned life.”
“For someone who’s taken my rights away, you like to pretend you know a lot about my fucking life and desires.”
“And you seem to be avoiding the fact that we still have yet to leave the car to enter your building. So, why have you been staring up at it, terrified? What are you really so scared of?”
Nausea swirls in my stomach. I’ve become transparent to him, but it doesn’t give him any right to hold it over me, treating me as if I’m the crazy one here.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I can’t see my friends. Or maybe it’s that I’m being held hostage by a man who seems to have no fucking soul.”
He pretends to consider this, mocking me as if we’d so easily slipped into our usual verbal sparring.
“Or the fact that you haven’t returned to this apartment since discovering your ex-fiancé was having an affair behind your back,” Nikolai says, and I feel my temple pulse. He’s too fucking close to the mark.
“You know nothing about me. The sooner this arrangement is over the better,” I hiss.
As I go to open the door, he does it for me, stepping out first and then adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt, his jade bracelet shining under the sun. He quickly surveys our surroundings before offering me his hand.
I look to Agata in disbelief but find no sympathy there. She just shrugs. Though I’m certain she’s warmed up to me, that permanent scowl remains on her expression.
I reluctantly slide my hand into his, flicking my hair over my shoulder, and when I step out into the chaotically loud buzz of Manhattan, I immediately want to hide. The way I currently look is not on par with how I should be presenting myself.
I love fashion and focusing on my appearance, but it’s tiring to be so polished all the time. Having been somewhat isolated these past few weeks, I haven’t had to care about any of that. But now that I’m back in the city, there are expectations.
Being a Falcone means that others look at us with high regard, but that we’re also scrutinized for any sign of weakness. In hindsight, it’s stupid when confronted with something as real as being involved with the bratva.
The doorman of my building seems surprised to see me, which isn’t all that shocking since I’ve been gone for months with no word, but his eyes go comically wide when he notes my fingers intertwined with Nikolai’s.
“Miss Falcone, it’s so nice to see you. I heard about—” He cuts himself off quickly when he sees Nikolai’s hard expression.
He no doubt was going to mention my breakup .
“I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” he adds, though it comes out more as a question.
Fuck, he probably thinks Nikolai is my rebound, which in some ways I guess he is.
No, he was . But he’s also not the type of man I’ve brought back to my apartment in the past.
Agata and Andrei nod in greeting as I force a polite smile. “Please don’t inform my father I’ve returned. I want some privacy over the next few days. I won’t be receiving any guests either.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve had all your parcels delivered, and they’re waiting in your apartment,” he says, his curious gaze bouncing between my guests.
My heart pounds as we walk through the grandiose lobby.
My companions are dressed fine enough, but I wonder if they give off don’t-fuck-with-me vibes.
I mean, each of the men are the size of a truck, and although Nikolai wears long-sleeved dress shirts, the tips of his snake tattoos can sometimes be seen peeking from the collar.
Tension ripples through us along with a heavy silence as we enter the elevator and wait for the doors to close. Nikolai presses the button for the penthouse, and I grow more uneasy, realizing he truly does know so much about me.
When the elevator opens, we’re greeted by a mountain of boxes and letters piled just inside my apartment. So that’s what four months’ worth of mail and deliveries looks like , I stupidly think.
Nikolai gently presses me back when I go to step forward, declaring, “Every item needs to be searched.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I get PR packages all the time. I doubt anyone put a bomb in one. Unless… Do you think that’s possible?”
Nikolai speaks to Andrei in Russian. “Check the apartment to make sure nothing has been planted. It would come as no surprise if the Armanis have already been here.” Then he looks to Agata.
“Start with meal preparations. It’s been a long flight, and I’m sure we’re all tired and hungry.
Please.” It feels like a typical demand, but with hint of softness and the addition of please .
Then he squints out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, no one is going to sniper us this high up.” Right?
“Because you know so many snipers,” he snarks as he scans the space.
It’s bittersweet to return to my penthouse. My father bought it for me for my twenty-first birthday. And although I’ve always loved it, I didn’t earn it on my own.
I love being spoiled, but the small apartment Michael and I purchased in London—the one I thought would be where we’d start a family—brought me more joy because I used my own money for it.
But I’m glad I let Michael have it, and that the lawyers handled our affairs quickly, because after seeing him in our room with another woman, I never wanted to step foot in it again.
The apartment has high ceilings, and with plush white couches and lively plants, it feels like an oasis. I can tell the cleaner has maintained it because it still looks like a staged home, rather than one that someone lives in.
Instead of going farther into the apartment, I sit in front of the pile of letters and boxes.
Nikolai crouches beside me, and says, “I’ll open these.”
I arch a brow at him. “And ruin my fun? Come on, this is an impressive pile. It feels like Christmas. Stop being a grinch.”
His jaw tics as he grabs the first box and shakes it. “You can start with the letters. Anything else I will?—”
I snatch the box out of his hand. “Don’t shake it. There’s probably makeup in this one,” I say, ripping it open as he watches on. Yep, makeup. I open the eyeshadow palette. “Oooh, I really like this shade,” I coo as I rub the golden shimmer on my wrist.
I welcome this distraction as the possibly explosive diamond necklace rests around my throat and the weight of lives feels heavy on my shoulders.
I set the eyeshadow aside and move on to the next package. He pulls out a flip knife from his back pocket and offers me the handle. “Here, this will make it easier so you don’t break more nails.”
“Are you making fun of me?” They’re especially grown out right now, and two are broken from when I scaled down the tree. Which I still can’t believe I actually pulled off. Amongst all of this fucked-up shit, I’m learning that I’m more resilient and capable than I ever thought.
“No. I never want you to feel like you have to do something dangerous like that again. I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time, mishka .”
My heart misses a beat, and in that split second, I can see that small glimmer of Nikolai that unnerves me. Not the killer or the indifferent man. But something more sincere and gentle. And what looks like remorse flashes in his eyes.
“How about you help me open them?” I say, accepting the knife. “It’ll take me all day if not. But be careful not to break anything.”
He doesn’t seem particularly keen on the idea, but he takes a seat beside me, and we sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor. I can’t help but feel like a kid on Christmas Day.
“You didn’t tell me you were into this. Perhaps I fell short on your fantasies by not wearing a mask?” Nikolai says, a mask with wires and a remote control dangling from his fingers.
I snatch it out of his hand. “Please. This is an infrared LED mask. It’s really good for your skin. You strap it on and then just go about doing your usual thing. It’s so convenient.”
His eyebrows dip, and for the first time ever, it appears Nikolai is at a loss for words. I’m sure our versions of convenient are very different. I hide a smile as he picks up another contraption, and asks, “And this?”
“Those are microneedles for the face. It helps produce collagen, though I don’t do home care for that. I go to my favorite clinic instead.”
“Women go through peculiar things all in the name of vanity,” he mutters.
I sigh, frustrated, because men really don’t appreciate the efforts women put forth to look good. “No, men say they want a natural woman, but this is what they really want. Being a model, I always have to be the perfect canvas, and it’s hard work maintaining that.”
“You’re amazing, mishka ,” he says gently, and I look up at him, surprised. He’s making fun of me, right? “I mean it. All of this?” He motions to the beauty items scattered around us. “This is hard work. But you enjoy it, yes?”