Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sienna
The Present
Despite my strict religious upbringing, I’ve never been one to wallow in shame. So what is the feeling that’s gripping my heart like a vise?
Having scrubbed in the shower so hard my skin’s raw, I still can’t seem to shake it. My robe gets cinched with an annoyed sigh as I step out of the bathroom and go in search of a drink, despite there being a perfectly good wet bar in the corner.
Moving to the kitchen, I rummage through the fridge, settling on an Italian sparkling water. The courtyard lights are on, and like an idiotic moth to the flame, I follow them outside.
Fabien is lying on the couch with his hands behind his head, looking up at the night sky.
“Oh, you’re still here,” I announce with a throat clearing before taking a dainty sip.
“Are you finished?”
“You were there; saw me finish firsthand,” I say breezily, ignoring my warring heart. At best, I thought Fabien would’ve thrown the client out before we made it past first base. At worst, I thought he would’ve beaten the shit out of the client before doing so.
But staying and watching? Giving pointers? Me coming so hard I nearly saw stars, all because Fabien’s voice was coaxing me, his eyes devouring me, his hand guiding another man’s?
“Finished punishing me,” he clarifies.
“Perhaps this is the first time you’re hearing it, Fabien, but not everything is about you,” I say dismissively.
And no, I’m not finished punishing him. Not even close.
He shifts to a seated position, tenting his fingers. “I watched it happen.”
“I’m well aware you were in the room,” I tell him in a patronizing tone.
“No, baby. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Don’t call me baby, and what are you talking about?” I snap.
His eyes search mine. “Why do you think I killed Ringer?”
Hearing that name sends ice through my veins and a stabbing sensation in my heart. “Ringer dared to touch your precious fiancée, and it cost him.”
Fabien looks at me in disbelief, jolting out of his seat. “Where did you hear that?”
“That you had a fiancée? Not from the man I should’ve heard it from,” I fume.
Sienna
Eighteen-years-old
There’s a crowd forming around the bulletin board, and I shove my way to the front of the pack. My heart pounds in my ears as I scan the list for the spring fashion show.
Sienna Jenkins
I squeal, jumping up and down.
“Sienna, congrats,” a fellow classmate tells me.
“Thanks,” I beam, hurrying out to share the amazing news with Fabien.
I’m a few minutes late, but he’s not here.
I frown, an uneasy feeling dancing up and down my spine. We haven’t spoken about his family since the one-and-done “dinner” over three months ago; I worry his father’s health may have taken a turn for the worse.
Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I call Fabien, but it goes straight to voicemail. Ending the call, I send a text.
Where are you?
No reply.
Unease morphs to panic as I scroll through my contacts and call Nic.
“Whatsup?”
“Sorry to bother you, but Fabien’s not answering his phone, and he’s supposed to pick me up from class,” I say in a rush.
“Who is this?” he drawls.
“Sienna!”
“Sienna, I’m messing with you.”
I’m too wound up to play along. “Do you know where he is?”
“Nope. But I’ll come get you and take you home.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that; I can walk.”
“And risk Fabien cutting off my balls when he finds out that I let you walk the streets alone?”
“We can’t have castration on my conscience.” I give him the address before ending the call and plopping down on the nearest bench.
If Nic doesn’t know where Fabien is, it’s unlikely that Vitto passed away. Nic’s family; surely he would know. In that case, maybe something came up business-wise. But even when Fabien is busy, he always finds time to answer my texts.
Before I unravel like a spool of thread, I grab my sketchpad and pencil from my backpack.
Turning to a black page, I let my hand take over, a sort of free-flow drawing that starts to take the shape of a macabre gowned figure covered by a veil.
Looking way too much like a second line to heaven ensemble for my taste, I close my sketchpad with a dramatic thump.
A flashy sports car pulls up, the window rolling down. “Balls still in jeopardy here,” Nic calls.
With a smile, I shake my head and walk to the curb, climbing into the passenger seat. “You and your cousin in a competition?”
“No competition. My car’s better,” Nic boasts.
“This isn’t like Fabien to forget to pick me up. Are you sure he’s alright?” I press him.
Nic shrugs.
“Could you try calling him? Please?” I clasp my hands together.
“Oh, alright,” he grumbles, fiddling with his phone.
The call comes through the car’s speaker, and to my surprise, Fabien answers in Italian. “Mio padre mi ha appena piazzato davanti un contratto di matrimonio. Incontrerò la ragazza stasera in hotel. Che cazzo faccio?”
“Merda. Non lo so, ma ho la tua ragazza con me. La sto riportando a casa tua,” Nic responds.
“Tienila lì finché non riesco a trovare un modo per uscire da questa situazione.”
Having had enough of this conversation that I don’t understand, I interject, “Fabien, what’s going on?”
But he’s already hung up.
I glance over to Nic, but he refuses to make eye contact. “What’s happening?”
“I’m to hang out with you until things are sorted.”
“What things?” I demand.
“Family business,” he says, which answers nothing.
We arrive at the apartment, and I unlock the door, and Nic follows me inside. “Fabien handles family business all the time; why do I suddenly need a babysitter?” I point out.
“Dunno. When my boss tells me to jump, I ask how high. Actually, I don’t, because I can’t jump for shit.
My professional basketball dreams crashed and burned in the fifth-grade championship.
Three seconds on the clock, I shoot.” He imitates with an invisible ball.
“And I’m stuffed, the ball hitting me square in the jaw. ” His head falls back in defeat.
“Aww, I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying to match his lighthearted vibe, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.
“Nah, don’t feel bad for me. I was mainly in it to sneak peeks up the cheerleaders’ skirts.”
I snort a laugh. “In that case, sympathy retracted. I’ve got work to do. Make yourself at home.” I lug my backpack to the spare bedroom I’m using as my workspace.
Getting all my sketches lined up on the floor, I start to feel a little overwhelmed. Making the samples for tryouts was one thing, but designing and constructing an entire collection?
Right about now, I could really use some hype from my biggest supporter. Grabbing my phone, I send Fabien another text.
I made the cut. I’m in the spring fashion show.
I don’t expect a response, but bubbles appear.
Baby, I’m so proud of you!!!
Tears well in my eyes. No one’s ever said that to me, except for him.
Thank you. Why can’t you talk right now? Where are you?
Handling some business. Be home as soon as I can. Love you.
My thumbs hover; I want to share the other news I received earlier, but I decide it’s a conversation best had in person.
Love you.
The exchange should make me feel better, so why can’t I shake this uneasy feeling?
With a frustrated sigh, I get to work creating the structure for my lace corset dress, ignoring the haunting sketch from earlier.
A knock on the door startles me, and I glance at my phone, realizing several hours have passed. “Come in.”
Nic steps into the room. “Um, it looks like a bomb went off in here.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” My gaze follows his to what I’d like to describe as controlled chaos, but it’s mainly just chaos. “I feel bad that you have to babysit past dinnertime. Why don’t we order something? Whatever you want, I’ll let you pick.”
“Wings and a six pack it is.” He rubs his hands together.
“How did I know you were going to eat more ‘college’ than me?” I tease him.
Nic gasps. “Don’t make me feel self-conscious about my freshman fifteen.”
That elicits an eye roll; the man’s nearly in as good shape as Fabien. “You’ve never met a weight rack you didn’t love, and I’d bet you’ve never felt self-conscious a day in your life.”
“How do you have me pegged?” Nic holds his heart dramatically. “I’ll be back in a few.”
He leaves, and I begin the task of straightening up my workspace.
My phone buzzes, and excitement that it’s Fabien morphs to confusion at the unknown sender.
You might want to get to the hotel lounge and see what your “boyfriend” is up to.
Who is this?
Make that who he’s up to.
Who the fuck is this?
My heart pounds in my ears as I wait, but no response.
I frantically scroll, pulling up Jade’s contact. To my relief, she answers on the first ring. “If it isn’t my best girl, plucked out from under me.”
“Is there a hostess event tonight at the hotel lounge?” My words come out in a violent rush, uncertainty seeping into my bone marrow.
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“If I were lying, I wouldn’t tell you I was lying, now would I?” she says, amusement coating her tone.
“Jade, please tell me,” I beg.
“None of my girls are in service tonight in the lounge, that I’d swear on my mama’s grave. Now, do you feel better?”
“No,” I admit. “Are you at your office right now?”
“Yes,” she says hesitantly.
“I received a text from an unknown number hinting that Fabien is at the lounge with another girl. Please go out there and tell me if you see him, and who he’s with—”
“Sweetie, let me stop you right there,” she says firmly. “The men in this world play by their own rules.”
“By men, you mean Fabien?” The fact that I even have to ask that question leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence.
“Jade, if you know something, please tell me,” I beg, hating that my voice cracks.
“Look, I don’t know anything about what’s happening tonight, but those rose-colored glasses you’re wearing aren’t doing you any favors.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re really going to make me spell it out?”
“Yes!”
“You’re not the first girl of mine to be with Fabien. Probably won’t be the last. So ignore shit-stirring texts and go about your business.”
“Who?” I say through my teeth.
Jade sighs heavily. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but Fabien lost his V card to Chantelle. Just be careful with that soft little heart of yours,” she warns.
It feels like I’ve been hit by a trolley.
“You won’t, but such is life,” Jade predicts, ending the call.
My mind’s reeling. Fabien told me he never paid for sex. Why would he lie about it? And his first time was with Chantelle? As in trying to shove a glass bottle up my vagina, Chantelle?
But forget all that; Chantelle’s six feet under, so who the fuck is Fabien with?
Better believe my “soft little heart” is getting to the bottom of this.
I take off downstairs and out the door, sprinting to Hotel D’Amico. Even the catch in my side doesn’t slow me down. Chest heaving, I reach the alley of the hotel, with Fabien’s sports car parked illegally.
It being here—him being here—knocks what little air I have left from my lungs. Dropping my hands to my knees, I give myself a moment to catch my breath.
The private door opens, and I straighten when I see who it is.
“If it isn’t Sienna.” The sleazy fed watches me a little too intently as he packs his cigarettes. Pulling one out and lighting up, he keeps the door propped open with his foot.
“Hello, Ringer.” I take an involuntary step back; something about this man has always given me the creeps.
“Benjamin. My name is Benjamin,” he says like I’ve offended him, blowing a long trail of smoke in my direction.
“If you don’t mind, Benjamin, I’m going to squeeze past you,” I say, starting for the door.
“You’re not going to like what you find in there.”
Ice fills my veins as I hesitate, spinning around. “And what am I going to find in there?”
“Fabien with his fiancée,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.
All the blood drains from my face.
“Costa nostra princess by way of Baltimore,” he continues. “We won’t hold that against her, being that she checks all the boxes. Well-spoken. Well-educated. Well-connected. Oh, and a classically trained pianist, which, as you can imagine, is music to Mrs. Calvani’s ears.”
It feels like Fabien’s ice pick is stabbing me in the heart. “You’re lying,” is all I can cling to.
He chuckles softly. “Doll, the only one lying here is you to yourself.”
“Don’t call me doll,” I snap, yanking the door open and storming inside.
Shoving my way through the crowd, I stop short.
Fabien’s ice pick splinters my heart into a thousand little pieces.
He’s seated at our table, and snuggled close to him is a cute twenty-something.
She’s clearly of Italian heritage, with dark features and midnight-black hair.
My eyes land on her left hand touching Fabien’s, and the huge diamond catching the light.
Across from them is Fabien’s mother, and another older woman, likely the fiancée’s mother.
The ice in my veins morphs to lava, and I march to the front of the lounge, waiting impatiently beside the table until all eyes are on me. “Isn’t this the pretty picture?”
Guilty.
It’s written all over Fabien’s face.
“You need to leave.” Mrs. Calvani shoots daggers at me before snapping her fingers. A burly man appears by her side. “Escort this woman out.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until I hear from Fabien why he kept his fiancée a secret from me.” Rage is the only thing holding my tears back, and I cling to it like a life preserver.
“Who is this?” The fiancée eyes me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her designer heel. To add insult to injury, they’re identical to the pair Fabien bought me for my little meet-the-family dinner.
“Nobody,” Fabien says, dismissing me with his eyes.
Before I can lay into him, two guards have surrounded me, and I’m not so gently escorted out and shoved into the alley.
The bottom of the sky opens up, drowning out my sobs. I slide with my back against the brick wall to my ass as my world falls apart.
Whore.
Rose-colored glasses.
Soft heart.
Nobody.
The rain pelts the words against my face as a strike of lightning rattles my bones.
Through my tear-and-raindrop-soaked lashes, I eye Fabien’s precious car.
White-hot anger propels me to my feet as I grab my keys from my pocket. Holding the metal edge of our apartment key out, I run it from hood to trunk, scratching Nobody on the driver’s side door.