Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Fabien
The present
I’ve finally been humbled.
My prediction all those years ago was wrong. It wasn’t Sienna that humbled me, but my own ego. And it cost the love of my life damn near everything.
And for my son, it cost him his life.
Looked at the little bundle of a blob on that ultrasound picture and knew it was a boy.
My boy.
Was my boy.
The half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand is flung against the garden wall, shattering.
But as with my tantrum earlier, this one has done nothing—other than cause someone else to be responsible for cleaning up my mess. My wife, as usual, is right about everything.
“Boss.” Saint appears with a cup of coffee. “You might want to sober up, sir. Your wife is trying to leave.”
“What time is it?” I accept the cup, taking a sip.
“A little after seven in the morning.”
“Where is she going this early?” I give my throbbing temple a rub.
“New York.”
My heart stalls. “What?”
“That editor contact of hers pulled some strings and got her an apprenticeship with a wedding designer. Sienna says she’s moving to NYC. Permanently.”
That sobers me up faster than coffee ever could.
“Don’t let her leave the house.”
Saint relaxes. “That’s good, boss. I thought you were going to do something noble and tell me to let her go.”
“Nope.” I warned Sienna that I was done being so damn understanding, and I fucking meant it. “Does she still have access to the cellphone?”
“Yes. Kirksey’s been blowing it up with text messages.”
“Then let’s see how this plays out.”
“You’re gambling with your life,” Saint warns me.
It’s always been Sienna’s life on the line. It’s time I put my own skin in the game.
Sienna
The present
“What do you mean, no? I said, drive me to the airport,” I demand of the third guard who’s turned me down.
“Sorry, Mrs. Calvani, but I can’t do that.”
My suitcase gets flung to the driveway as I stomp my heels back inside the house. “You.” I point at Saint. “I have no doubt you have a hand in this.”
“Mrs. Calvani, did you really expect your husband to agree with you relocating cross-country?” Saint challenges.
Well, yes!
Why would Fabien still want me after last night? We’ve burned each other to the ground, nothing but cinder and ash.
“So I’m a prisoner in my own home, now?” I challenge.
“Mr. Calvani has had less than twenty-four hours to process this news,” he points out, and I hate it when men have valid points. “Cut him some slack.”
“Saint, you’re a man ruled by logic.” I try a different approach. “Fabien and my relationship defies logic. Together we’re toxic. Volatile. Going to destroy each other. A tragedy has but one ending.”
“Is there a question?”
“Don’t stand there and watch it happen! Do something,” I say, exasperated.
Saint holds up his hands. “Love isn’t logical. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
“My heart wants to be in New York!” I stop my foot.
“Since when? You love NOLA.” Fabien appears looking rougher than I’ve ever seen him, wearing the same suit from last night.
“Don’t tell me what I love,” I snap.
Fabien calmly examines me with bloodshot eyes. “Is the bombshell portion of your revenge plot over, or should I brace myself for more?”
“I’ll keep you posted,” I say, spinning on my heel and marching out.
I slam the door to my room, doing a little stomp and scream before kicking off my designer heels and changing into my studio clothes. But not before a pit stop to the guest bathroom.
Firing up the cellphone, I scroll through Kirksey’s angry messages.
I’ve paid you two million, and I expect my investment to pay off.
Last chance, doll, before I put a hit out on your life.
A bitter laugh escapes me. Don’t waste your time. I’ve been dead for years.
I don’t take kindly to threats. Here’s your information as promised, and this concludes our business. Fabien and family will be meeting at Clavani Ice Company on Friday at midnight.
If I’m going to be the villain of Faiben’s story, I might as well live up to the role.
Fabien
The present
“Kirksey will set up an ambush for the family, tonight at my office,” I update my brother on my plan.
Sienna has chosen to betray me, not that I blame her.
“Kirksey is too chicken shit to do it himself, so he needs to believe that I’ve been killed,” I continue. “That will draw him out of hiding, and I’ll be waiting.”
Angelo strums his fingers on his desk, a habit we both picked up from Vitto. “How will this work without a public announcement of your passing? I’m being sworn in on Monday, and I’d rather avoid the messy optics.”
“One step ahead of you, little brother.”
He snorts. “That’s doubtful, but let’s hear it.”
Ignoring the jab, I tell him, “There will be a private funeral mourning my loss on Saturday. Kirksey will hear the news.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I fall back in my chair. “There’s a leak in my house.”
Angelo whistles.
This plan will either be epic or an epic crash and burn. No room for in-between.
“Very well. I’m counting on you to handle this problem before Monday.”
“Relax, your coronation won’t be screwed up. Unlike mine,” I can’t help but throw in a dig.
“You’re the one who punched me,” Angelo grumbles.
“For good reason,” I counter.
My brother leans back in his chair. “You’re right.”
I hold an exaggerated hand to my ear. “Come again?”
“Don’t be an asshole,” he chides. “Had I heard you speaking to Remi the way I spoke to your wife, I would’ve done the same.” With a throat clearing, he continues, “Remi has asked me to extend an invitation for you and Sienna to join us for Sunday dinner at the weekend house.”
“Raincheck. I’ll be dead, remember?” I tell him, walking to the door.