Page 5 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“Sienna is stunning tonight.” Victoria’s voice jolts me back to the room.

I know what I was doing: trying to look anywhere but at the artist in the green velvet dress. But now that Victoria has said her name out loud, I can’t drag my eyes away from her. Stunning doesn’t cut it.

I’ve been away for three months, trying to clear my head, and learn to exist with the heavy weight of Sienna’s rejection. I came on too strong, too soon after I found her again. She’d been kidnapped because of our family, and I didn’t even give her a chance to breathe before I was telling her I loved her and begging her to forgive me.

No other woman has ever had this effect on me.

The night we met, New Year’s Eve six years ago, should’ve been the first night of the rest of our lives. When she suggested we chase the sunrise, I almost added the word first.

First sunrise. First kiss. First of everything two people could possibly want to share.

Then our lives blew up because of a truck driver who didn’t know when to say no to a few beers. My brothers pulled me from the wreckage. They did what they thought was right: got me out of the situation before the press got hold of the story. They checked Sienna’s pulse, or lack of, and figured there was nothing they could do for her. I still can’t forgive them for it.

I tried to find her. I didn’t know at the time, but Caleb tried to find her too, only he was searching for a corpse, while Sienna was fighting for her life in a hospital with burns covering most of her body.

“Come on.” Victoria links her arm with mine and leads me across the room.

Sienna does a double take when she spots me. She excuses herself from the small group of guests and joins us, her appraising gaze sending signals directly to my cock.

Focus, Kyle.

“You made it, V.” Sienna leans across Victoria’s swollen belly to hug her. “I was sure you’d go into labor today.”

“I warned the baby to stay inside until tomorrow.”

Pregnancy suits my sister-in-law. Her skin is glowing, her eyes are bright, and her hair tumbles over her shoulders in thick luscious curls.

“Kyle.” Sienna peers at me from beneath lowered lashes. “You look … different.”

My hair has grown while I’ve been away, and I’ve cultivated a layer of so-called designer stubble which I decided to keep. I still walk with a limp from my leg being shattered in the horrible wreck that changed our lives forever. But I think what she means is, I’ve lost the veneer of anxiety that shrouded my life before I went to Ireland. I took advantage of the fresh air, vibrant Irish scenery, and roaring log fires in country pubs while I was away, and tried to let go of everything else going on back here.

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

Her fingers instinctively play with the scarf around her neck, but there’s a smile on her lips, nonetheless. I’ll take it as a win.

“When did you get back?”

“A week ago.”

I wanted to swing by the gallery to see her. Fuck knows, I’d have come straight from the airport if I thought she’d have been pleased to see me. But I didn’t spend the last three months promising myself that I’d give her space only to ruin it the instant I set foot back inside the city.

Only now, I can’t be certain, but she almost seems disappointed. Her shoulders drop momentarily. Then a server, a young guy wearing smart black pants and a crisp white shirt approaches us with a tray of champagne flutes, and the moment passes.

I sip my drink, the bubbles fizzing behind my teeth.

Now that I’m standing beside her, I feel my resolve and good intentions crumbling. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. There shouldn’t be this awkward space between us.

So, ignoring my head that’s screaming at me to walk away before I cross the flimsy line keeping us apart, I lean my face close to hers, so close I can smell her light, understated perfume, and say, “Favorite piece of art?”

She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue, and half-turns towards me. It all seems to happen in slow-motion. I can see the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, the freckles spattering her nose, the curve of her lips which are exactly as I remember them from years ago.

But before she can respond, a tall guy in a blue Armani suit swoops in from out of nowhere, and kisses her cheek, raising a faint blush as Sienna pulls away. From both of us.

“Nick?” She blinks furiously as if trying to bring him into focus.

But I don’t need to adjust my eyes. The guy’s raven-black hair is slicked away from his forehead. His cheekbones and jaw areexpensively chiseled to perfection. His eyes are pale-gray, and his smile so wide, I can see his back teeth. I’d wager that he practices his smile in front of a mirror each morning before he leaves home in case he gets caught on camera. Wouldn’t want to be seen looking anything less than immaculate.

“What are you doing here?” Sienna asks.

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