Page 23 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“Everything okay here?” His gaze takes in the empty whiskey glass, my barely touched water, and the lack of food.

My heart is racing. Nick. My father. Kyle. I feel like they’re all closing in on me.

I grab my purse. “I was just?—”

“Everything’s great,” my father interjects. He extends his hand for Kyle to shake. “Hooch. I’m Sienna’s father.”

I don’t know if it’s sheer bravado or if he simply has no conscience because he introduces himself as if he and I have been meeting for lunch every week for the past twenty years.

Kyle’s eyelids flicker between me and my father, but his expression remains neutral. The professional demeanorautomatically kicks in. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Kyle. Kyle Murray. My brother owns the Rinse.”

This information doesn’t register in my father’s eyes. “So, how do you know my daughter?”

I balk at his use of the word daughter. Has he still not learned that his name on my birth certificate doesn’t make him my dad? He relinquished that title long ago, long before he even walked out on me and my mom.

“Sienna’s best friend is my sister-in-law.”

Maybe Kyle has sensed the tension between us as the response is instantaneous and noncommittal. He’s giving nothing away.

“You’re almost family then.” The crocodile tears are gone, and the smile firmly fixed in place is all for Kyle. “It’s great to see my baby girl surrounded by people who’ll look out for her.”

My flesh crawls all over the baby-girl endearment. What the actual fuck!

It’s a step too far, and I stand up, grateful when Kyle steps aside for me to leave.

“I’ll call you, Sienna,” my father says as I walk away.

I want to yell at him not to bother, to stay the fuck away from me, but Kyle is right behind me, and I just need to hold it together until I’m outside.

“Sienna?” Kyle’s voice is gentle as he reaches for my hand in the lobby of the Rinse, and that’s when the tears start spilling.

6

KYLE

I don’t even thinkabout the consequences. Sienna is upset, and I can’t leave her like this, so I call Seamus, usher her into the back seat of my car, and take her back to my apartment.

She rests her head on my shoulder, and I give her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, grateful to my mom for making sure all her sons carry freshly laundered handkerchiefs in their suit pockets.

The ride is silent as I give her time to calm down.

When the car pulls into the basement lot of the Wraith, I ease Sienna away from me just enough to open the door and climb out with her. The dim yellow lighting must penetrate whatever is going on inside her head because she peers around, fat teardrops clinging to her eyelashes. I quell the urge to catch one on my fingertip.

“Wh-where are we?” she stammers.

“The Wraith.” I guide her into the private elevator. “No pressure, Sienna. I thought you could use some breathing space.”

“What gave it away?” She tries to laugh, and the sound is muffled by the sobs still loitering under the surface.

In the elevator, she tries to mop up her tears, sniffing occasionally. We don’t speak.

When we reach my apartment, I settle her on the sofa and fix her a brandy, neat, in a crystal tumbler. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Sienna doesn’t hesitate. She takes the drink, swallows it in one mouthful, and then splutters into the handkerchief as it goes down, producing more tears.

“I needed that,” she says finally.

I go to the liquor cabinet and fix two more drinks, both with a splash of soda. Removing my suit jacket, I sit opposite her, keeping my distance. She sips her second drink with caution.

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