Page 8 of Possessive Mafia Vows

Into the search engine, I type in the name Nicholas, cosmetic surgeon, and New York City. There are nowhere near as many results as I’m anticipating, and it takes me less than thirty seconds to locate Nick Morris and open his website.

The first page contains a color image of him smiling at the camera in a silver designer suit, white shirt, and gray tie. All that’s missing is a sparkle from his expensive teeth to complete the golden-boy image.

“Okay, let’s see what you’re hiding, Nick Morris,” I mutter to the screen in front of me.

I trawl the Internet, digging deeper and deeper, through Nick Morris’s work history, college, and as far back as high school. Nothing. But no one is that squeaky-clean, and this is ringing more alarm bells than if I’d discovered a wife, a mistress, and a criminal record. I know first-hand how unwanted information can be made to disappear.

I don’t trust the guy.

I don’t know what his agenda is concerning Sienna, but my gut is telling me that it has nothing to do with love. One glance at the guy was enough to tell me that number one on his list is Nick Morris, and perhaps, as Caleb said, I should trust Sienna’s judgement, but he’ll have to lock me in a cell to keep me from looking out for her.

My suspicions are burning a hole in my chest.

I can’t concentrate on work, I can’t drag Caleb away from his baby girl, and Mom will already be besotted with her granddaughter too.

So, I do the next best thing. I call Terry, my step-father, and arrange to meet him in the Wraith’s restaurant for breakfast.

“What a bonny baby!” Terry’s sporting his granddad grin as he takes a seat opposite me at Caleb’s regular table. “Have you seen the pictures?”

He doesn’t wait around but unlocks his phone and opens an image of Mom cuddling baby Holly in the hospital room. Mom looks young again, as if having a new baby in the family has erased life’s creases from her forehead and given her an added roll of the dice.

I can’t help smiling.

“She’ll break hearts when she grows up.” Terry locks his phone, and orders coffee and loaded pancakes. “You’re looking well, Kyle. Ireland suits you.”

We talk a bit about my trip, but Terry’s astute enough to pick up on the fact that I’m holding back, contributing the bare minimum to the conversation.

“What’s going on, lad?” He spears maple-syrup covered pancake onto his fork, pops it into his mouth, and sits back.

Deep breath. I know how this is going to sound, but I have to ask. “Ever heard of a cosmetic surgeon called Nick Morris?”

He swallows, cricks his neck from side to side, washes his food down with a mouthful of black coffee. He’s thinking. “Should I have?”

“He’s Sienna’s cosmetic surgeon.”

Terry sets his cup down and scratches the corner of his eye. “And?”

I explain that I met the guy for the first time at the gallery opening where he arrived unannounced, and that I don’t trust him. “I’ve done some digging. He’s either a saint or he has someone mopping up his footprints.”

Terry nods, pensive. “Don’t trust him how?”

“He showed up without an invite, didn’t wait to be introduced, and then didn’t leave Sienna’s side. I haven’t figured him out yet, but his snub was aimed directly at me.”

“Okay.” Terry sits forward and rests his elbows on the table. “Let me ask you something. Would you be so mistrustful of the guy if this had been about anyone but Sienna?”

I swallow a mouthful of coffee and wince as it scalds my tongue.

Would I? It’s virtually impossible to answer as this does already concern Sienna. But thinking back to the fake smile and the hand on her lower back guiding her around the gallery as if he owned it, I know that this is about more than him touching her.

“Gut instinct: yes.”

“Fair enough. You want my advice, tell Sienna how you feel.” I’m about to shut this suggestion down when Terry raises a finger. “You can say your piece, and the rest is down to her.”

Maybe he’s right.

But I’m treading a fine line with Sienna, and I don’t want to tip her over the edge and straight into the arms of Nick Morris.

3

---