Chapter 12 – Sienna
SIENNA
The first thing I do when I wake up after a night of tossing and turning is reach for my phone.
I sent out a dozen messages before going to bed, to every restaurant manager and cafe owner I've ever worked for, asking if they had any openings.
Swallowing my pride, I begged David to put in a good word for me at his cousin's place in Lincoln Park. I even texted my old supervisor from the hotel, the one who fired me for taking too many days off when Dad was dying, hoping she'd forgotten what an inconvenient employee I was.
But when I unlock my phone and the screen lights up, it's not an avalanche of job offers waiting for me.
My college chat, that’s been dead for months, suddenly has a string of unread messages from people who’ve never said more than two words to me before.
Rebecca’s called four times.
There are texts from numbers I don’t even recognize.
What the hell is going on?
As I scroll, one name is mentioned over and over.
Luca Calvano.
Throwing back the covers, I’m already calling Rebecca back as I scramble out of bed, shove my feet into my slippers, and grab a hoodie to ward off the chill in the air.
She picks up on the first ring as if she’s been sitting there staring at her phone, waiting for me to call her back.
“Hey. Wha–”
She wastes no time on pleasantries, talking over me immediately. "Oh, thank God. Sienna, have you seen?"
My stomach drops. It’s too early, and I’m too tired for this. "Seen what? What's going on?"
Vito winds a figure eight around my ankles as I press my cheek to the cold fridge door. Staring up at me, his look tells me he’s concerned I’ve lost it. While I’m on the hunt for a new job, he’s probably considering a new owner.
"Look at the last message I sent you. Or out your window."
Fighting the urge to slink back into my room, to hide under the covers and pretend none of this is happening, I brace myself for more bad news. With the way the last couple of days have gone, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
Crossing to the window, I yank back the curtains and gasp. The street below, usually empty at this hour, is lined with cars, nicer than the ones people around here own, and vans, big ones, with camera crews standing beside them.
"Oh fuck." They must be here for me, but why? I'm nobody. “Are they at your house too?”
"Just look at the link I sent you."
I open our chat and navigate to her message, nearly dropping it twice with my shaky fingers. When I click on the link, the article fills my screen, and the air leaves my lungs.
It’s me. About six different shots, taken outside the restaurant on the night of the shooting, in those chaotic minutes after the ambulance took Kate away.
Luca’s draping his jacket over my shoulders in one.
In the next, he's reaching toward me, his fingers on my collar, turning it up against the cold.
The gesture is almost tender, and combined with the intimacy of the positions, it looks like more than it was.
Maybe it did make my heart flutter, just for a second, but we’re not lovers.
Each still shot though, with Luca looking concerned but composed, disheveled but hot as hell, and me looking up at him wide-eyed, looks like a scene from a romance movie.
And Luca Calvano looks every inch the leading man, not the villain.
“No, no, no,” I whisper as I scan ahead, barely able to comprehend what’s happening.
The headline screams: CALVANO HEIR'S MYSTERY WOMAN IDENTIFIED: Childhood Family Friend comforts devastated heir of the Calvano empire after Party Tragedy.
They have it all.
Old photos that must have been pulled from my social media. Speculation dressed up as journalism, quotes from former classmates who remember us being college sweethearts, some questions about whether Luca’s rumored engagement to Kate O'Sullivan is real.
"Sienna? Are you still there?"
In all the time since I left college, abandoned my degree, and tried to drag my family out of the hell we’d found ourselves in, nobody knew about my connection to Luca. But now, all that carefully crafted distance has evaporated.
They list out his father’s prosecutions and jail sentences, aggravated assault, money laundering, and fraud. Not the kind of stuff you want to be linked to if anyone, prospective partner or employer, gives your name a quick Google.
Fuck.
"I'm here." I sink to the floor, back against the wall, putting the phone on speaker.
I continue to scroll, cursing as a picture of my dilapidated building appears on screen with a caption underneath suggesting I’m some kind of charity case that the dashing billionaire Luca still surprisingly deigns to speak to.
“Oh God,” I whisper, blood roaring through my ears, my breaths shallow and fast. I pull at the neck of my sweater like it’s choking me.
"Come and stay with me, okay? Pack a bag and get out of there. Is there a back exit you can sneak out? A fire escape, maybe?"
Luca’s warnings ring in my ears. The assassin will be able to find me now. The article even describes how I helped Kate and had a terrifying face-to-face encounter with the gunman before he fled the building.
“I can’t. They’re everywhere.” I rest my head on my knees and focus on breathing in and out.
“Well, just lay low then. Don’t open the door. Don’t talk to anyone. They’ll lose interest by tomorrow…”
Right on cue, the banging starts, someone hammering on my door, hard enough to rattle the hinges. Through the wood, someone shouts a question about confirming the nature of my relationship with Luca Calvano, about whether I'd like to comment on the rumors.
The door handle shakes, and I yelp, expecting the flimsy lock to burst open.
"I have to go."
"I’ll come to you," Rebecca offers, but I quickly decline, scrambling along the wall, further from the door. I’m afraid to stand in case they can see in the windows.
“No. You can’t. Please.” I force myself to sound composed, just for one sentence. “I’ll lock up and stay indoors. I’ll be fine.”
“Sienna, wait–”
I hang up, but the banging continues, joined by more voices now, overlapping questions that blur into incoherent noise.
Tony's deep baritone cuts through, exactly what I needed to hear. “You can’t come in here. Get the fuck out. This is a private building.”
A pause, confirmation that the landlord gave them permission to come in.
"I don’t give a fuck. Back off. Now. All of you."
The banging stops. There’s scuffling, weak protests, and someone asks Tony whether it’s true it was an attempted hit on Luca rather than a robbery gone wrong.
"I said back off."
Footsteps retreat down the hallway, the grumbling and complaining growing quieter as Tony herds them away.
My pulse slows, and I can finally think again now that the immediate threat has faded.
But it hasn’t gone away.
Vito winds around me, shaking on my kitchen floor, and nudges me before crawling into my lap and letting me cling to him like a life line.
My phone beeps, and stupidly, I look.
David's response is waiting for me.
Hey Sienna. Bellini’s is closed indefinitely, and I’ve taken a job with my cousin. Honestly, I can’t recommend that he hire you. I know that sounds harsh, but I need to distance myself. I'm sorry. I really am. But good luck with everything.
I read it twice, waiting for the words to rearrange themselves into a message that’s less soul-destroying.
They don't.
Talk about kicking a girl when she’s down.
A knock on my door makes my head fly up, but this time, it's gentler.
"Ms. Fox? It's Tony. They're gone. For now."
I drag myself up and open the door a crack, looking left and right to check for myself.
Tony stands in the hallway, a muscle ticking in his scarred, square jaw. "They’ll be back. They're relentless, these people. And I've already seen your landlord down there talking to one of them. Giving an interview."
A wave of nausea passes over me.
"He's going to—" I can't finish the sentence. I can only imagine what he’s saying to them.
Tony scratches the back of his neck, toying with bringing up something he really doesn’t want to. "They're going to film the whole thing if you're still here when the eviction happens."
The room starts to spin, so I grip the doorframe to keep myself upright. Suddenly it’s hot, and my vision blurs at the edges.
It’s like losing our home all over again. I can’t stomach the public humiliation.
"Hey. Hey." Tony's firm but gentle. "Look at me. Calm down."
Out comes a strangled sob, which I attempt to hide behind my hands.
"Jesus. Listen to me," he says sternly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you need help, and Luca's offering it. And I’m guessing he’s the only person you know who can take you in and keep you safe.” Tony turns his hands palms up.
“Work with him, find whoever did this, and then move on with your life. It doesn't have to be complicated."
I hate it, but Tony’s right. I’m all out of options, and I’ve got nothing left to lose. So, I wipe my face with the back of my hand and pull out my phone, my fingers trembling as I type.
Sienna: Fine. I'll help.
Once I send this message, there's no going back. I'm walking into his world willingly, and I have no idea what other dangers that will bring.
I press send.
His response comes instantly, like he was waiting for me to cave.
Luca: I think you mean Thank you for your kind offer. I’d like to accept.
No softness. No gratitude. Just Luca getting exactly what he wants.
The urge to fling the phone at the wall is strong, but then the dots reappear.
Luca: Was that so hard?
Luca: Be ready in an hour. Start packing. ESSENTIALS ONLY.
I look around my shitty apartment, which was supposed to be temporary, a stepping stone to somewhere better that stubbornly remains out of reach. I’m not sorry to be leaving, I just wish it was on my own terms.
But maybe it was always meant to be this way. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, I’m excited. I’ve got nothing left to lose, and Luca Calvano and I have unfinished business.
Forty-five minutes later, the cars and vans outside suddenly pack up and leave, in an excited rush. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened when Tony knocks on the door.
“Time to go. Let’s get out of here before they come back.” Tony ducks inside and grabs the backpack I’ve left just inside the door.
“Where did they go?” I ask, as he ushers me out, looking at Vito in his carrier like I’m carrying a bomb.
“There was a report of an armed robbery in progress just a couple of blocks away,” he says without meeting my eye. “But I can’t imagine we’ll have long before they realize it was a false alarm.”
With the bag over his shoulder, and one hand on my elbow, he steers me outside and toward the waiting car at the curb like this is a military operation. He never stops scanning our surroundings as he bundles me into the back seat and hurries around to the driver’s side.
"The back rent is paid. Luca gave the landlord enough to cover any outstanding bills and keep him happy until we can get your belongings out of there.”
Of course, he did.
“You’re staying at Luca’s house. The security is tight. Nobody will get to you there.”
Of course, they won’t.
Too tired to argue about the wisdom of sharing a house with my ex, I slump down in the seat.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and Tony nods, meeting my eye in the rearview mirror.
He’s a man of few words, so instead of attempting to make polite but awkward conversation, I turn my head and say nothing as we pull away.
As we drive further and further north, the buildings grow sparser until we turn onto a private road lined on either side by massive trees. Finally, an imposing set of black, iron gates appears ahead, flanked by broad pillars and multiple security cameras.
Tony slows as they swing open. They’re expecting us.
The driveway is long and lined with beautiful, tall trees, reaching up elegantly to the sky.
Then the house comes into view, and I curse quietly and sit back in shock, not sure I’m fully prepared for this. What rises before me is not a house, it's an estate. A sprawling stone mansion with manicured lawns rolling out in every direction, and a fleet of expensive cars parked out front.
Tony pulls up to the front entrance and cuts the engine.
And there he is.
Luca stands on the front steps, arms crossed over his chest. There's no warmth in his expression. No welcome. Just the cold certainty of a man who always gets what he wants.
I climb out of the car, refusing to fidget with my hair or smooth down my outfit, and walk toward him, meeting his flinty gaze.
Behind me, the car door closes, and Tony mutters a curse as Vito hisses at him through the wire door.
Luca’s eyes flick to the side, then flash back to me in dumbfounded anger.
“What… the fuck… is that?”