Page 52 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“So, Seamus has been sitting outside my father’s apartment all night?” Her voice has lost the accusatory edge.

“Not all night.”

She straightens two cups on the tray next to the machine. “What about the men who were outside my apartment? Are you still denying any knowledge of them?”

“Sienna…”

I want to take her home with me. I want to tuck her up in my bed and watch her sleep peacefully, safe in the knowledge that no harm will come to her while she’s in my care. But she isn’t ready to trust me, and so far, my attempts to gain her confidence keep backfiring.

“If they were my men, you wouldn’t have known they were there.”

Her lips twitch at the corners. “Did Seamus have anything to report back in the night?”

There’s something she isn’t telling me, but I’m conscious that I need to tread carefully. She let me into the gallery this morning. The moment she stops talking to me will be the time I start truly panicking. If she doesn’t keep me in the loop, I can’t protect her.

“Like what?” I hesitate, unsure how far to push it. “I know you got a pizza takeout.”

“Ah, but do you know what toppings and sides we got?” Finally, the smile reaches her eyes.

“You’ve got me there.” I allow my shoulders to drop just a fraction, enough to let her know that I’m still not here to put pressure on her. “I know that you picked up some clothes from home and then didn’t leave the apartment until you came here today.”

Her expression immediately turns serious again. “What about my father? Did you have him followed too?”

“I know where he was if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sienna furrows her brow. “Where?”

Okay, so either he hasn’t told her where he’s been, or she doesn’t believe him.

“He was in a casino.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?”

My mom said that she couldn’t protect herself and her family if she wasn’t armed with all the relevant information. But this is different. Sienna’s father is a loser with a gambling addiction. He’s easily handled. Unlike the illusionist cosmetic surgeon whose pièce de résistance is vanishing into thin air.

She inclines her head. “Did he win?”

“No.” I’m hoping she doesn’t ask me how much money he lost.

She fills the two cups with strong black coffee and hands one to me. “So, he’ll be desperate to win some money back, huh?”

“That’s how it usually goes.”

“Shall we sit down?” It isn’t really a question.

She slides the chair out from behind her desk and sits down. She rests her elbows on the desk and cups her face with both hands as though her head is too heavy to hold up.

I sit opposite her.

“What time did he get home?”

“What’s this all about, Sienna?” I don’t spell it out: she spent the night in his apartment, but she’s asking me about his movements. Something isn’t quite right.

She blows the surface of her coffee to cool it down and takes a tentative sip. “I only want to know what time he got home.” Her bloodshot eyes are all over the place, and that’s before the caffeine hits.

“Around 5 a.m.”

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