Chapter 8 – Sienna
SIENNA
The water in the tub has turned cold by the time I finally reach for my towel, my fingers slightly pruned. I don't know how long I've been soaking. Long enough for the steam to clear, and the shivering to start. Long enough to replay every second of the evening over and over in my mind.
I ignore Vito’s yowling outside the bathroom door, wrapping the towel tightly, my body now aching for sleep.
“Just give me a second,” I hiss when I open the door, and he darts between my legs, determined to trip me. When he makes a beeline for the bedroom, I follow, too exhausted to dry my hair, and find him on my bed, curling up on Luca's jacket as if it’s about to become his bed.
“Traitor,” I mutter, scooping him up and depositing him on the floor. "That's not yours."
He meows indignantly then immediately trots toward the trash can in the corner where my ruined uniform is stuffed. His nose twitches, whiskers quivering as he rises on his hind legs to investigate.
"Ew, no. Get away from that."
Before he can climb inside, I grab him, squirming, one-handed, the other clasped to the front of my slipping towel and carry him to the door.
"Enough." Patience thin after a long night, I set him down in the hallway, ignoring his outraged glare. “It’s for your own good. You really don’t want that.”
I shut the door on his complaints and tie up the bag with my clothes, debating whether it’s unforgivably lazy to just leave it here until morning to deal with.
I’m still weighing my options when I turn toward the bed and scream.
I stumble backward, my hip cracking against the doorframe, one hand flying out to grab anything I can use as a weapon.
There’s a figure, dressed from head to toe in black, sitting in my worn reading chair, waiting for me.
"It's me," he says, unfazed by my reaction.
"Luca?" My other hand flies to my chest, pressing against my racing heart. "What the actual fuck?"
He leans forward and regards me, still clutching my curling wand, my weapon of choice, with mild amusement, and not the least bit apologetic for scaring the absolute life out of me.
"Your lock is pathetic. Anyone could get in here."
Tightening my towel, I glare at him, setting the wand back on top of my dresser.
"Anyone just did." I adjust the towel again, painfully aware of how vulnerable and semi-naked I am.
This isn’t my Luca, I remind myself. I was safe with him, but with this man? Who knows.
Gathering the last bit of strength I have, I straighten my spine and pretend that I’m not internally freaking out. "What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“I came to see you. Your home.”
He doesn’t smile, just keeps looking at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. If he’s just here to check that my life really is as miserable as it seems, he can consider it done. And go.
“You broke into my apartment,” I grit out. It’s been a long night. I’m tired and overwrought, and bordering on delirious. There’s no way I can control the words tumbling from my mouth. “You can’t knock like everyone else?"
A flash of emotion flickers across his face, not shame like a normal person would feel, but amusement. Well, he can fuck right off if he thinks anything about this is funny.
"Your door is a piece of shit. There was barely any breaking needed."
A drunk guy managed to shove the door in just recently, and the landlord promised to install a deadbolt, but that hasn’t happened yet. Not something I’ll be admitting to Luca, though.
"And I didn't think you’d let me in,” he admits, completely unapologetic.
"You’re right. I wouldn’t have." I push off from the doorframe, needing to get away from him. To be alone. My voice wavers, and I hate it. "I'm exhausted, Luca. I've had the worst night of my life. Maybe you’re used to this kind of thing, but I’m not."
Luca doesn't move. He just sits there, watching me in the dim light, taking in my every movement, every emotion. Judging me. I hate it but force myself not to squirm under his scrutiny. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
"I needed to make sure you were okay."
A laugh escapes me, sharp and humorless. "By scaring the shit out of me?” I shake my head.
Luca stands, and the room seems to shrink. I forgot how tall he is. He's every bit as imposing as I remember, more so now that he's filled out. Even in the dim light, I can see the way his shirt strains across muscles that weren't there before.
Damn it, he looks good.
“That’s exactly why I’m here. This is my world, Sienna, and I know how this works better than you do.”
Waiting for more, I keep quiet, stubbornly refusing to give him what he wants. My curiosity.
"Someone tried to kill me tonight, and you were standing right next to me when it happened.”
He edges closer, and it takes all the energy I have to muster up some attitude. “And?”
“And you saw them.”
When I open my mouth to deny it, his eyes narrow, seeing right through me, as he looms closer.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Sienna. Or have you forgotten how well, how intimately, I know you?”
The reminder of what we once were rattles me more than I’m willing to let him see, so I turn my back and walk to the dresser, pretending I’m not mentally falling apart.
Taking my sweet time, gathering my composure, I pull out underwear, a bra, jeans, and a T-shirt.
The whole time, his eyes stay on me, burning into my skin.
“Can you… ?” Twisting, waving my hand to the door, I wait for him to do the gentlemanly thing and leave, but it seems Luca’s lost his manners, as well as his understanding of boundaries, since I saw him last.
“After you tell me what you saw,” he insists, giving me his best intimidating mobster glare.
Unwilling to let him make me feel small and powerless in my own space, I turn back to face the wall and mentally brace myself. One foot at a time, I step into my lacy thong underwear and shimmy them up over my hips under the towel.
Right before I drop it.
The sound he makes is barely audible, his sharp inhale quickly controlled, but I hear it, and satisfaction curls through me.
"What are you doing?" he asks, low and husky, his deep timbre sending tingles down my spine.
"Getting dressed. Or did you expect me to have this conversation naked?"
I should feel scared, exposed. Instead, recklessness stirs inside me.
Taking my time hooking my bra, I bend to put on my jeans, cursing internally when I have to wiggle a bit to get them over my hips and ass. These might not have been the best choice.
The silence in the room is deafening, but when I reach for the T-shirt, I hear him move.
One step. Two. Close enough to my back now that I can feel the cold coming off his clothes.
"Sienna."
I freeze, T-shirt clutched to my chest. Schooling my features into a mask of complete calm, I turn slowly, finger-combing my still-wet hair like I’m not the least bit concerned about having a dangerous man like him in my home.
His eyes lower, following the trail of water droplets still clinging to my collarbone, before traveling back up slowly.
"The shooter," he says, each word gritted out through clenched teeth. "Tell me what you know."
This again.
“I already told you. He was wearing a mask,” I say stubbornly.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
I try hard not to stare at Luca’s full lips or the tanned skin visible at the base of his throat.
"Someone bumped into me just before the shooting started. He was heading toward the back and knocked into my shoulder." I pause, replaying the moment in my mind. “It might have been the same guy.”
Luca goes very still. “It might have been, or it was?”
I consider it for a second, lifting the T-shirt and sliding it over my head. “It was.”
Those luscious lips that I used to love to suck on press into a thin line, his expression morphing into one of barely controlled anger. "You didn't mention this before."
"I was in shock. It barely registered at the time." I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying the moment in my mind. "I couldn't describe him even if I wanted to."
Luca scoffs, easing closer, menacing with his dark clothes, musky scent, and unblinking stare.
"So, you don’t want to? Because you know him? You want to protect him? He’s a killer, Sienna."
Pot. Kettle.
“No. I don’t know him. I was just distracted… and I didn't think anything of it at first.”
Luca moves forward, crowding me, making my head spin.
“Distracted by what?”
I step back.
He steps forward.
We continue this dance until my shoulder blades hit the cold plaster of the wall, and there's nowhere left to go.
Luca rests one palm against the wall beside my head, caging me in. “There’s more. We both know it. So just spit it out.” He grits his teeth, getting more and more worked up.
Panicked, I blurt out the truth before I can think of something better. But the admission costs me dearly.
“By you, Luca.” I look away, unable to bear his stunned face as I share my weakness. “You were there, with her, and I was… flustered. All I could think of was running away."
His anger cools, and the predator pulls back, though just slightly, irritation replaced by what appears to be sympathy. He eases off, giving me room to breathe, as one hand settles on my hip, his thumb finding the bare strip of skin between my jeans and T-shirt.
I’m struck by a memory of our first kiss outside a restaurant on our first official date, which Luca insists was our third, counting the night he peeled me off the road and a trip to a bicycle repair shop as dates one and two.
He did the same thing then. Thumb stroking my hip, looming over me, turning my brain to mush. Unfortunately for me, it still works.
"You're coming with me,” he insists, the demand no less bossy and domineering. “I’ll keep you safe."
“Safe from who?” I demand. “You’re the one who picked my lock and sat in the dark waiting for me like some kind of psychopath."
“Just safe,” he replies evasively, and I battle back the urge to roll my eyes.