Page 62 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“What can I do, Sienna?” He holds her gaze so that her attention is on him.

“It’s all in hand,” I say. “I’ll get a team in to repair any damage and salvage what we can.”

He scans the gallery. “Did they…” his voice breaks. “Did they destroy everything?”

Sienna covers her face again as fresh sobs erupt.

This time there’s no stopping him. He wraps his arms around her and turns his back on me so that I’m blocked from her view.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmurs against the top of her head. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. I know how much hard work you put into opening the gallery.”

“Why … did this … happen?” Sienna manages between sobs.

“People are cruel, Sienna.” He turns his face to the policewoman while trapping Sienna against his chest. “Are there any leads? I trust that you’ll be checking CCTV cameras.”

“Of course, sir.” Her tone is neutral, and I wonder if she’ll add the name Nick Morris to her notepad, along with an observation about how he blustered in and took control of the situation. “May I ask how you know Ms. Walker?”

“We’ve known each other for several years. I was her surgeon, before our relationship became personal.”

My heart tries to perform a somersault, and my breathing quickly catches on when it crashes against my ribs. I use my inhaler to ease the wheezing in my lungs.

Nick releases Sienna. He holds her at arm’s length and lowers his face to her level. “Why don’t you come back to my apartment, Sienna? I can’t bear the thought of you being alone tonight, after this. Kyle will close the gallery for you once everything is sorted, won’t you?”

He doesn’t even glance my way.

“Sienna, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I say.

I can’t be certain that she even hears me because Nick is already leading her outside, one arm draped across her shoulder.

Neither of them look around before they climb into a waiting taxi and drive away.

15

SIENNA

Kyle was right aboutone thing: I’m not thinking clearly.

It feels as though I’m having an out-of-body experience.

I watch someone else climb into the back of a taxi with Nick. It’s another woman, strangely familiar, who presses her face up against the passenger window and watches the city flash by in a blur of fairy lights and shiny tinsel and gigantic red ribbons. The same woman is trying not to inhale and commit to memory the overpowering scent of Nick’s cologne and the vanilla air freshener swinging from the cab’s rearview mirror.

All my artwork … trashed.

I think my brain is blanking out what I saw—I can’t recall specific details—but I’m left with a gaping hole in my chest that I’ve no idea how to fill.

Every single painting that was destroyed held a special place in my heart. They all contained a piece of me, a thought, an emotion, a glimmer of an idea that, once brought to life on canvas, was set free. Released into the universe like a fragile bird finding its way home.

They will never exist again.

They’re all gone.

It’s this finality, this loss, that I don’t know what to do with. I know it isn’t like losing a loved one. I know that there are people all over the world dealing with far greater loss, but this knowledge doesn’t stop the tears from flowing.

I might not have lost someone I care about, but I have lost a part of me, and that’s why I feel so numb.

“Sienna, we’re here.” Nick’s gentle voice barely penetrates the fuzziness wrapped protectively around my brain.

I look at him. His eyes are filled with concern, his hand on mine is warm. A surgeon’s hands. Strong but delicate. Sensitive but steady.

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