Page 57 of Possessive Mafia Vows

I never asked him to come back into my life, but all I want to do now is draw a line under the past and move forward. Alone. And he can congratulate himself on putting things right which is no doubt how he’ll remember this.

He walks with me to the front door.

Outside, I hesitate. Will he accept that this goodbye is final? Or should I walk away and then block his number?

“You can return my spare key when you find it, sweetheart.” Before I can remind him that I don’t have it, he adds, “And the next time you need to borrow some money, all you’ve got to do is ask.”

Then he closes the door in my face.

That night, I sleep for twelve hours. I wash all my clothes to cleanse them of the smell of my father’s apartment. I paint. I throw myself into PR for the gallery.

I don’t look for Kyle’s men outside my building.

I don’t dwell on my father’s parting comment that I stole money from him. I’m not angry or frightened. I don’t feel sorry for him—I don’t feel anything at all—but I realize now that he needs medical assistance, and that I don’t owe him anything.

A couple of evenings later, I have a meeting with a client at the gallery, a restaurant owner looking for some pieces to hang in their foyer. The woman, who is in her forties with fine, pale hair caught up into a sleek ponytail, and the casual elegance of someone who knows the clothes that suit her, is approachableand talkative. Within minutes of entering the gallery, she tells me that I’m the artist she’s been looking for all her life.

I feel my smile growing wider as the meeting progresses. She wants to commission enough pieces for me to put a down-payment on a new apartment, and I finally feel as if the world has started spinning the right way again.

Until my phone rings, and I see Kyle’s name on the screen. He has kept his distance, as promised. If he’s ringing me now, he must have a good reason, and I instinctively know that it won’t be good news.

“Please excuse me,” I say to the client as I hit the green button.

“Sienna.” Kyle’s voice sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, and I hide my face from her. “I need you to come to the Wraith.”

“Now?” I switch my phone to my other ear. “I’m in the middle of?—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to call you, but your father insisted.”

“My father?” I lower my voice. “Kyle, can I call you back?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t urgent. If you don’t want to get involved, just say the word. But I’ll have to let my security team deal with him.”

“Why?” I glance at my client who is studying her own phone and pretending politely not to listen. I can’t afford to lose her, but I need to know what’s going on. “What has he done?”

“I’ll explain when you get here. He’s refusing to cooperate until you arrive.”

Is this how it feels to have someone like my father in your life? Does trouble follow him around or does he not know any other way to exist?

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

I end the call and face my client, who is already sliding her phone into her purse and rising to her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “It’s a family emergency.”

“I understand. Family must always come first.” She produces a gold-embossed business card and places it on my desk. “I’ll be in touch. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sienna. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I haven’t lost the first promising customer to walk through my door since Bash.

I watch her climb into a red sports car and drive away before I lock up and hail a passing taxi to take me to the Wraith. I’m not sure why Kyle didn’t involve his security team before calling me, but I guess he must have his reasons.

When I arrive, the concierge ushers me straight through to a private room in the casino where I find my father seated at a table with his head in his hands, and an empty brandy glass in front of him. A guy with long gray hair tied back into a low ponytail sits opposite him. I can’t see his face, but from the broad shoulders, thick neck, and black suit, I guess he must be security.

Kyle comes rushing over to me and pulls me into a booth so that we can speak in private. “I’m sorry, Sienna. Your father was escorted from the casino earlier.” Pause. “He was cheating.”

At this point, nothing surprises me, but then I recall his forgetfulness and his allegation that I’d stolen money from him.

“Kyle,” I keep my voice low, “do you think he understands what he is being accused of?”

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