Chapter 10 – Sienna
SIENNA
The punching bag swings back, and I hit it again, harder this time, channeling every bit of anger and frustration I have into the impact. Sweat drips down my spine, my knuckles aching through the wraps, and for a few blessed seconds, I'm not thinking about anything except the next strike.
Jab. Cross. Hook.
My muscles burn in that satisfying way that tells me I'm pushing myself, that I'm strong, and that I can handle whatever comes next.
Including Luca fucking Calvano.
I've been coming to this gym for three years now, ever since I moved to the city.
It's not fancy, just a converted warehouse with peeling paint and equipment held together with duct tape, run by volunteers to give the local kids something to do and somewhere to go, but it's part of my routine. My sanity.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Hook.
"Looking good, Sienna," one of the regulars calls out as he passes. But there's something off about his comment, a hesitation that wasn't there last week.
Without breaking rhythm, I nod, pretending I don't notice the way his pace slows as he debates whether to stop and chat. Just like I don't see the two women by the water fountain whispering behind their hands, glancing in my direction.
Maybe they know I work at Bellini’s and heard about what happened.
Or maybe it’s the good-looking Italian man in a sharp suit standing in the corner, being intimidating as hell as he glares at anyone who even looks in my direction, that’s attracting their attention.
I hit the bag harder, letting the thud of each impact drown out everything else. When I finally stop, arms trembling, I allow myself a moment to regroup and to plan.
Today is about getting my life back on track, because I need to do it fast. I'll shower, change, and start applying for jobs. Any job. One that comes with tips or pays daily would be ideal.
Then I'll visit my landlord, explain what happened, and beg for an extension. He's not a monster. If he’s seen the news, surely he'll understand that I was caught up in circumstances beyond my control.
Hopefully.
I unwrap my hands and roll my shoulders, already feeling better, and a bit more like myself. I’ve been in dire straits before. I can do this. I just need to keep moving forward. There’s always a way.
Tony is waiting by the door when I emerge from the changing room, hair still damp, gym bag over my shoulder. He could at least try to look inconspicuous, maybe wear normal clothes, but no. Apparently, blending in defeats the purpose.
Or so he told me when I tried to convince him I didn’t need a babysitter.
He wants anyone following me to know he’s there.
Not that I think hiding him will work. Everyone in the gym dips their head in deference to Tony, seeming to already know who he is, and that he’s someone to be respected.
It’s annoying as hell.
I don't acknowledge him as I push through the door and out onto the street. He stays a few paces behind me, not my friend but my shadow. Halfway home, my patience snaps.
“Would you just walk beside me, please? This is weird.”
I give him my best disarming smile, but he simply shakes his head, continuing to scan over my head like he’s guarding the head of state.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
This entire thing is ridiculous, even though I know it’s not Tony’s fault that he works for an overbearing asshole. I have places to go and people to beg for employment, and Tony is going to make that impossible.
How am I going to get a job with him lurking behind me? Maybe more importantly, I don’t want him reporting back to Luca on how shitty my life is.
I still have some pride.
“Are you technically working for me now? Do you have to do what I say?” Turning, I rest my hands on my hips and stare up into Tony’s handsome but scarred face. A burn mark runs along his jaw, dipping down below the collar of his starched black shirt.
“Absolutely not.” He waves a hand in the direction I was traveling, furrowed brows drawn together, encouraging me to keep moving.
“But you’re reporting back about everything I do?”
Tony hesitates before giving me a very politically correct answer for a mob enforcer. “Everything relevant.”
“Relevant…” I tap my lip and stare at him considering that very specific word choice. What does Luca Calvano think is relevant?
“So, if I went on a date, you wouldn’t have to tell him that, because it has nothing to do with the shooting, but if I went to the police or the press…”
Tony blinks, suspicious eyes narrowing. He appears to think I’ve lost my mind.
“I would suggest to you, Ms. Fox, that all of those would be very bad ideas,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining something very obvious to a child.
Hmmm.
We continue the rest of the walk home in silence.
It only takes minutes, and I've done it countless times, but today, it feels different.
I catch myself looking for anything out of place, still jumpy after the shooting despite knowing that it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Nothing like getting caught up in a mob hit to put a girl on edge. It’s Luca's fault I’m all paranoid.
“You’re making me nervous,” I hiss over my shoulder to Tony when I startle at a car horn, and he laughs, but angry as I am at his constant presence, it’s kind of reassuring, too.
Not that I’ll be admitting that to Tony. Or Luca.
My tired-looking building comes into view as we round the corner, and I quicken my pace, eager to get inside and start making calls.
Tony stretches past me and gets to the door first, holding it open, giving me the slightest tip of his head in acknowledgement when I thank him for his chivalry.
He stares past me, fixed on something over my shoulder, but when I turn, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a parked maroon car, the driver enjoying a cigarette with the window rolled down.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but Tony just shakes his head and ushers us both inside, closing the door quietly and waiting for me to start up the stairs.
I’m already mentally listing all the restaurants close to Bellini’s that I could look for work in and deciding which ones to apply for first based on their proximity to my college library. Distracted, I'm halfway down the hallway before I notice it, the letter pinned to my door.
An eviction notice, with the words stamped in red, just in case I didn’t get the message from reading it.
Fuck.
Snatching it down, the words blur as my carefully constructed optimism crumbles to dust.
Seven days. I have seven days to vacate the premises. Stapled to the back are photocopies of my previous warnings, and the record of my payment history since the beginning of the year to really drive home what a shitty tenant I am.
Blinking back tears, I glance to the end of the hallway, where Tony is busy checking out the stairwell up to the next level. I stuff the letter into my gym bag before he can see and shove my way inside.
I was hoping he'd give me another week.
The apartment is jarringly quiet, doing nothing to ease my nerves.
Vito winds between my legs with an accusatory meow that tells me his breakfast is late, and he holds me in contempt for this grave injustice.
He doesn’t care that my life is falling apart, and we’re about to be living in my car.
The world is supposed to revolve around him and his belly.
"I am aware that you’re hungry," I mutter, tossing my bag onto the couch. "Join the club."
I'm filling his bowl when my phone rings.
Unknown number. I stare at the screen. Maybe it’s a former employer. Maybe it’s a job I’ve applied for previously, finally reaching out. Or even more likely, maybe it’s the police looking for that statement I promised them.
A mixture of desperation and people-pleasing tendencies makes me answer, and I immediately regret it upon hearing the bossy, superior tone of my late-night intruder.
"We need to talk." Luca cuts in before I can say a word.
"I'm really not in the mood, Luca." Slamming Vito’s food down too hard, I curse as it spills out onto the floor. “And the other thing I’m not in the mood for is having someone stalking me around my gym class and morning walk like the grim fucking reaper. Some of us have lives. Boring lives, maybe, but shit we need to get done. Call him off.”
I’m aware that Luca’s fiancé is in the hospital, and he probably doesn’t quite deserve this level of vitriol for giving me a bodyguard, but turns out, being made homeless makes me a little bitchy.
"You lied to me."
That catches me off guard. Bending to put the spilled kibble back into the bowl, I answer slowly. “No, I didn’t.”
Even I wince at the defensiveness I tried but failed to keep out of my response.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me about what?”
I lean against the kitchen counter and raise my eyes to the ceiling. Shit.
“I’ve seen a video from inside the restaurant. Of your friend waving goodbye before slipping out the back door.” Luca seethes. “So don’t fucking tell me you didn’t lie.”
“I have no idea who he is. And that was a threat. He was telling me to be quiet or else. If I opened my mouth, he was going to shoot us.”
I replay the scene in my mind, the chaos, how conscious I was of Luca on top of me, protecting me, but vulnerable.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about it?” Luca demands.
“Because of the ‘or else’ part, duh,” I hiss down the phone, holding it in two hands and shouting at the microphone like it’s Luca’s face I’m screaming into, and his neck I’m throttling.
There’s silence. “Did you just say duh to me?”
I’m as shocked as he is.
"I didn't lie.” I sigh. “I just didn't tell you everything." Weary and with bigger problems than Luca right now, I sit with a sigh and sink back into the couch cushions.
"That's the same thing,” he insists.
"It's really not."
As I watch Vito sniff the food and look at me accusatorially, telling me he knows some of his meal touched the pristine floor, I can still picture Luca perfectly, jaw clenched, one hand dragging through his dark hair the way it always did when he was frustrated with me.
Some things don't change.