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“Ah, yes, hello…” He looks down at my name tag, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than it needs to on my chest. “Sienna. That’s right. You’ve worked here a week.”

“Yes,” I say.

“When was the last time you visited the Vine, Nico?” Nico just stares at him. From this angle, I can see his blue eyes are practically glowing with rage. When Nico doesn’t answer, Viktor goes on, “I’m curious. How long has it taken Sienna here to make such a dazzling impression?”

“We met tonight,” Nico growls. “She’s here to do her job, not to be subjected to interrogations by you. You’re drunk. And you’ve overstepped.”

“I’m Russian, Mr. Moretti. Please don’t talk to me aboutdrunk. But yes, I will leave you. I apologize, once again, for Sergei’s behavior. Oh, and Anya sends her love.”

“Okay.”

Viktor tears his eyes away from Nico to look at me. “Anya is my daughter, my jewel, my princess. She has been quite smitten with this one for a number of years.” Viktor laughs, waggling his finger at Nico. “But he has been as stubborn as a big American mule.”

He laughs, returning to his table. I’m shaking as I carry the vacuum and the brush into the back room. I don’t want to be overdramatic, but that was terrifying. It wasn’t anything that was said. It was the tightness in the air.

Rachael rushes over, positioning herself in the doorway of the supply closet. "Oh, my gawd. What wasthatabout?"

"I don't know. Nico stood up for me, I guess, and then it was... It wasn't anything that was said." I inhale deeply, close my eyes momentarily, then reopen them. "I'm going to forget about that incident entirely. Just focus on work. That's all I want to think about. Compartmentalize everything else."

"You're not going nutty on me, are you, hon?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

"You're my star waitress tonight."

"Even after all those blunders?"

She envelops me with her arm. “It’s all thanks to your kick-ass attitude."

"Thanks, Rachael."

I return to the main floor of the restaurant, realizing the folly in hasty judgments. Initially, I thought her insufferable. Yet her words are comforting.

For fifteen minutes, I work diligently, acutely aware of the Russians' scrutiny and Nico's gaze as well. Nico ignites something within me—a spark I might acknowledge in another existence, not this one, not in a reality where the mob ended my mother's life.

They murdered her. Crushed her like an insignificant ant. They killed her as if she were inconsequential, not the woman who single-handedly raised a daughter after her father abandoned them. She was an angel. Now, she's gone forever.

Eventually, the Russians leave. Nico and his companions linger. I hate the sensation of his watchful eyes... despise it precisely because it captivates me so entirely. Try making sense of that contradiction.

Gianna gestures toward me. "Could you fetch me another coffee, dear?"

"Certainly," I reply, jotting it down. "Anything else?"

"Nico was mentioning something," Gianna says.

I glance at Nico, whose cheeks are flushed crimson. I've always been entranced by that color, its subtle variations. Crimson, carmine, alizarin. Or perhaps it's merely the ambient lighting. "My mother has an unfortunate tendency to speak far too freely," he says.

I smile genuinely. I nearly say,I like seeing you embarrassed. But I refrain. I simply wait expectantly.

"If you'd like transportation, we can provide it," Nico offers. "You might prefer not to go home unaccompanied this evening."

"I'm perfectly capable," I respond.

"It's absolutely no imposition, dear," Gianna insists.

"And I meant precisely what I said. I'm entirely self-sufficient."

I've been alone for four years. I don’t need special considerations now.