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He looks at me incredulously. "I've done some light digging."

"But?"

"Are you sure you want to know? I thought we were pretending I'm merely a hedge fund guy."

"But?"

He exhales deeply. "I'm certain that the intended target was Italian, which suggests the gunmen were most likely Russian."

My mind revisits the restaurant, those Bratva men. Any of them could have pulled the trigger.

"Thank you," I murmur. "Will you let me know if you uncover anything else?"

"Certainly, but?—"

"Just because I want to know what happened to Mom, that doesn't mean anything can happen between us."

He rolls his eyes. His frustration is mounting. Can I fault him? He's probably contemplating how I'm selectively acknowledging aspects of his mob connections that serve my purposes.

"I mean it, Nico. Thank you."

"Sure," he says.

I watch the scenery transform through the window as we leave the neighborhood behind. Boarded-up windows yield to freshly painted storefronts. The fractured sidewalks become smooth, and the liquor stores and pawn shops give way to cafés adorned with string lights and expansive windows.

Guilt surfaces as the silence stretches. Perhaps it's unfair, but I can't help it. "And thanks for sacrificing your morning. I've been itching to work on something."

"It's no inconvenience."

"Truly? You must be busy."

He laughs gruffly. "I was being polite. It took some maneuvering, had to reschedule several meetings. But I'll catch up this evening. You're worth the effort."

That excites me more than it should. I attempt nonchalance but fail miserably.

I'm worth it.

ChapterThirteen

Nico

Soon, we're situated in Mother’s lavish garden. I sit on the fountain's edge as Sienna arranges her painting supplies. I love the concentration etched into her forehead, her narrowed eyes. The way she sticks her tongue slightly from the corner of her mouth.

"This is going to require multiple sessions," she tells me, extracting a canvas roll of brushes, untying it, and arranging them by size. "It's more intricate than sketching. There are a lot more elements to play with."

"You sound excited."

She smiles. "Do I?"

"Yes. I appreciate that. I can sense your passion."

"You can sense it?" She removes the paint tubes, arranges them by color, and checks the caps.

"You say that as though you're surprised I have feelings."

"No, that wasn't my intention. I just meant... I'm not sure."

"Continue."