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I don’t wait to see how they react. Quickly, I dive into my car and screech away, calling my mother.

“Yes?” she answers.

“We were right about Adrian. He just tried to walk me into a trap. Three masked men were waiting for me. At least one of them was Russian. We’re heightening security and surveilling the Russians. Sienna will need to stay at yours for the time being. She needs your security.”

“What should I tell her?”

“The truth. She deserves that.”

Mother sighs. “Good, because Nico… I may have already told her about us.”

“How did she react?” I ask, even if my mind should be on other things.

“She’s difficult to read. I don’t think she knows how to feel about it, honestly. But I think she wants to take a chance. I think she wants to try.”

“I won’t get my hopes up,” I groan. “If I did that, I’d go mad.”

“You like her, don’t you? More than like her?”

“I’ve got too many plates to spin, but yes, Mother, I like her. Go and get her. Now. Explain what’s happening. Keep her safe. I need to go. More calls to make.”

I hang up, then call one of my men, spitting out a list of orders.

My heart is pounding. The last thing this city needs is another mob conflict.

ChapterSixteen

Sienna

“Are you sure you don’t prefer to watch a movie or something?” Gianna stands at the bedroom door to the guest room: the same room where Nico and I got steamy in recently.

Except, it feels like so long ago. Almost three days have passed. I’ve spent the time with Gianna, either painting her, other objects, or one of her friends. Or going shopping and visiting the cinema. It’s been surreal, and, honestly, I’ve felt a mother-daughter connection forming.

“Sienna?”

I snap back to the present moment. “I’m fine. I just want to read. To relax. Or try to.”

Gianna sighs. “I hope you’re not scared.”

“You told me that someone tried to kill Nico. You told me that Nico ordered you to bring me here because it might not be safe. If I wasn’t scared, I wouldn’t be normal.”

“Then perhaps it’s better if you’re not alone.”

“Please, Gianna. I’m okay.”

That’s a lie. I was confused even before Gianna and three cars filled with suited men showed up at my door. Thinking about Nico has had my head spinning. At night, I close my eyes and think of him, and once or twice, my hand has slid between my legs to relieve the tension, making me ache.

It’s only been two days, almost three, but I miss him more than I should.

I’m not sure how long I try to read my art history book, but I know I’m unsuccessful. I can’t focus.

When a knock comes at the door, I say, “Gianna, seriously, I’m fi?—”

“It’s me,” Nico interrupts.

I rush to the door, then stop. I don’t want to look too keen. I don’t want him to sense how many times I’ve thought about him since learning he’s a good guy, since trusting Gianna against my better judgment.

He pushes the door open when I hesitate to open it. He looks intense, a mixture of rage and relief dancing across his features. If I were painting his eyes now, they would be black with a hint of carmine-crushed longing.