Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sienna
The present
“Your client and his entourage must follow the same rules as anyone else interested in our private hostesses. Participants must provide a clean STD test, administered by our provider,” I repeat to the handler of an A-list star who’s currently a guest in our penthouse suite.
Said star is on holiday in the Big Easy, and his handler thinks I’m some big easy pushover.
But a cinematic career and chlamydia aren’t mutually exclusive, and I won’t risk my girls’ health because of a man’s ego.
Nor will I allow a client to provide his own test results, as I recently caught a man attempting to use fake medical records.
“Fuck that. We’ll bring in our own girls,” he says dismissively.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You could, but then you’d run the risk of law enforcement’s involvement. And with your client’s nasty divorce, getting caught with cheap hookers and blow wouldn’t go over well—in the court of law or the court of public opinion.”
“Bitch, who the fuck do you think you are?”
Nic appears, digging the barrel of his gun into this man’s temple. “Apologize to Mrs. D’Amico.”
“I’m so-rry,” the handler stutters.
“Apology accepted,” I say brightly, only because I don’t want to deal with blood spatter in my office.
Nic holsters his gun, taking a seat in the chair next to the man who looks like he might shit his designer jeans.
“How about as a courtesy to your client, I have our doctor make a penthouse call?” I suggest. “One teensy little finger prick is all it takes.” The double standard of girls undergoing testing but not the clients was righted as soon as I took over as madam.
“Uh, that would be fine,” the handler says, eyeing Nic and then me, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Wonderful.” I beam. “I’ll make the arrangements, and once we get a green light from our medical team, laissez les bon temps roul.”
“Great.” He hops up out of his chair, but I hold up my hand.
“Shall we use the credit card on file to pay the nonrefundable setup fee, or would you prefer to pay cash?” There isn’t a nonrefundable setup fee, except that this man’s pissed me off, so now there is one.
“Card is fine.” He scurries out of the office.
“Nic, what do I owe the pleasure?” I smile at the current underboss of the family, a position once belonging to his cousin.
The white elephant in the room we both ignore like champs.
Nic rises and walks to the door, closing it, and I sit up a little straighter in my chair.
“I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to do that audit we talked about?
Kickups have been on the decline. I’m not blaming you.
” He holds up his hands as I go to mount my defense.
“Things were on the downswing for a while now, before Jade stepped down.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to catch my breath,” I lie, my stomach twisting uncomfortably at the mention of that woman’s name. “Give me a little more time to get my sea legs beneath me.”
“Here’s the thing, Sienna.” Nic runs his hand through his hair. “You’ve had months already, and the boss has been on my ass about this.”
Angelo Calvani. The estranged brother who popped out of the woodwork to take over the family.
I’ve heard Michele on more than one occasion bitch to other capos about Angelo’s leadership.
But doesn’t mean much, as Michele loves to run his big mouth.
“Nic, please give me a little more time.” I fold my hands together and give him my best puppy dog eyes.
He sighs. “Two more weeks, Sienna. But income from the skin trade has gotta start increasing, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” I give a little salute.
He nods and heads toward the door.
“Nic,” I call, and he pauses. A question about what happens when Fabien gets released from prison is on the tip of my tongue, but if that man can pretend I don’t exist for nearly a decade, I can return the favor. Instead, I say, “I have the perfect girl for you. She’s the total package—”
He holds up his hands. “Nope. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“You’ve always been the smart one,” I muse.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know about all that.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking like he wants to say more, but like me, he guards his words. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Nic,” I call.
Alone in my office, I schedule the STD testing for our penthouse client before pulling out the old books. Yes, I’ve been in charge of the call girl ring for months now, and from what I can gather, Jade skimmed at least a hundred grand from the operation, if not more.
I let out a long sigh, giving my temples a rub as I mentally go through my shitty options. Michele is the last person I trust with this information; for all I know, he was involved in the embezzlement scheme.
That leaves Nic, but if I tell him what I’ve uncovered, he’d be forced to go to Angelo with the information, and one of three things would happen.
Scenario one: Michele’s offed, and to tie up loose ends, so am I.
Scenario two: Michele pins it on me to save his own skin, and I’m offed.
Scenario three: Michele’s offed, but the boss spares my life.
It’s rumored Angelo killed his own father; he’d have no qualms about making me disappear.
“Ugh.” My forehead bangs the desk.
If that bitch Jade were alive, I’d kill her all over again.
Sienna
A few months ago…
“Morning, darling.” I greet my husband as he joins me in the kitchen. Pouring him an espresso, I ask sweetly, “Would you like some breakfast?”
He eyes me suspiciously as I serve him the coffee. “No.”
Why would he want breakfast? Caffeine and cruelty are what fuel this man.
Opening the newspaper, Michele sips on his espresso, and I silently take a seat across from him. “I was thinking—”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
Unclenching my jaw, I continue, “Now would be the perfect time for me to go back to design school—”
“No,” he interjects, still behind his paper.
“Please, Michele,” I beg, and I fucking hate it. “It would give me something to do, so that I’m not in your hair.” Or lack thereof, as Michele is in denial about his receding hairline.
He lowers his paper, sizing me up with those shark eyes of his. “Here’s the thing, my dear. I would consider it, but seeing how you can’t do your one job as a wife, I can’t imagine you could juggle two.”
That one job of giving him a child. That one job I secretly sabotage.
Although I’m not one hundred percent certain I need to, given that Michele had no children from his first union. But to suggest he’s shooting blanks would get his gun pointed at my head, a gun I’m sure is not shooting blanks.
Michele returns his attention to the newspaper, and I envision all the ways I would kill him. My favorite fantasy is me poisoning his espresso, his lifeless body slumped over the morning paper…
Being that I don’t have a death wish—and that’s exactly what would happen to me if I were to murder a capo—such a fantasy will have to remain just that.
He leaves for the hotel, and I pace back and forth, a prisoner in a gilded cage of my own making.
We always have a choice. You made yours; fucking live with it.
If it isn’t my own words, coming back to bite me in the ass.
I’m in desperate need of a distraction, and I grab my phone and text Jade to see if she wants to meet up for lunch. My only friend immediately replies.
Sorry, sweetie, I’m busy today. Let’s plan something next week.
On a groan, I toss my phone and fall back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
With all this free time on my hands, it’d be the perfect opportunity to work on my design portfolio.
If only I had a sewing machine. Hell, I’d settle for a needle and some thread, but Michele got rid of all my supplies—including my beloved collection of antique lace bobbins—years ago.
Some bullshit infraction I supposedly committed.
But of course, he snuffed out the only joy in my life. The man gets off on trying to break me. The joke’s on him, though; I’m already broken.
Boredom sets in, and with nothing else to do, I say fuck it, and break into his stash of coke. I’ve watched Michele snort enough lines to know the drill. Lining up the white powder with a razor blade, I use a rolled up hundred and inhale.
Leaning back on the couch, I close my eyes, wanting to feel…something.
And something I do feel, starting in my toes and working its way up my spine, settling into my head. A blissfully euphoric state, where “no” doesn’t exist in my lexicon.
It’s all so clear now! Of course, I can talk Michele into my plan for design school!
Hurrying outside to where my driver is detailing the town car, I tell him, “Take me to the hotel.”
“Yes, ma’am, but perhaps you’d like to get dressed first?”
Following his gaze, I realize I’m still in my bathrobe. “Oh,” I tell him excitedly, “That’s a great idea!”
Hurrying back inside, I slip into my sexiest dress and heels. One more bump for the road, and I’m off to make my dreams come true.
I’m dropped off at Hotel D’Amico, and I confidently stride to Michele’s office. There’s no light on, and so I cross the hall and start to knock on Jade’s door, but I stumble forward, my knuckles pushing it open.
All the blood drains from my face.
My only friend is splayed out on her desk, getting railed by my husband.
Jade cranes her neck, her eyes meeting mine. Those jaded eyes don’t hold embarrassment. Or regret. Or even an apology.
No, the old woman looks at me with pity while she stabs me in the back.
“Sienna, I wasn’t expecting you,” Michele says, continuing to screw my friend. “But please, stay. You can watch Jade get fucked; it’ll be a full-circle moment.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice is strange; far away.
Michele’s eyes fill with a gleeful cruelty. “Jade could have intervened that night in the alley, but your ‘friend’ didn’t want to get involved. Isn’t that right, Jade?”
Her silence speaks volumes.
With a guttural cry that I realize is coming from me, I sprint across the room and grab a box cutter that’s next to an unopened package. Extending the blade, I bring it to Jade’s neck, slicing from ear to ear.
Blood sprays everything within a foot’s radius as Jade’s head lolls to the side.
“Goddammit, Sienna!” Michele bellows as the blade slips from my hand. “I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and you’ve made the biggest fucking mess.”
Frozen in place. Unable to speak. Unable to move. I’m only able to watch as my husband pulls his unwrapped cock out of a corpse, tucking it inside his suit pants.
I grunt as Michele grabs a fistful of my hair, jerking my face inches from his. “You wanted something to do? Congratulations, my dear, you’re the new madam,” he hisses between his teeth. “You can start by sobering up and getting Jermaine in here to help clean up this fucking mess of yours.”
Releasing me with a shove, he storms out.
My high bottoms out spectacularly; all that’s left is a hopeless sense of despair and a bitter taste in the back of my throat.
Turning my palms over, I examine the gooey crimson.
Nobody in this business is your friend.
Eighteen and so fucking naive, I didn’t understand Jade’s warning back then. Oh, but I understand it now.
My eyes land on her lifeless ones, and I lurch forward, puking everywhere.