Page 61 of Convenient Mafia Vows

Including me.

A guy I don’t recognize wearing a black suit and black roll-neck sweater is waiting in the elevator when the doors open.

Surprise must register on my face because he smiles at me and Abigail and says, “Mr. Murray asked me to escort you wherever you want to go.”

I’m not a prisoner, but I’m not allowed to go anywhere without Caleb knowing about it. Part of me feels safe within this cocoon Caleb has woven around us, but the other part of me, the independent part just wants to feel normal again.

I step into the elevator and face the doors as they slide shut, fighting the urge to ask the guy if he was on duty yesterday evening. Caleb was right: it’s easier to keep my eyes shut and remain blissfully ignorant.

They must have a secret way of communicating because the driver is waiting next to Caleb’s car, the rear passenger door already open, and the engine running. Either that or Caleb has invisible cameras inside the elevator.

Oh God. If that’s true, then someone, somewhere, could be watching back the footage right now.

The driver keeps his eyes discreetly on Abigail, and I tell myself to stop overthinking it. It’s done now. Too late to go back and change it, and even if I had the chance, would I do things differently? Probably not.

Abigail stares out of the passenger window, seeing the city through the fresh eyes of a child. One day, she’ll see thingsdifferently. I only hope I can prolong that moment for as long as possible.

There’s no answer when I ring the outside buzzer to Sienna’s apartment. I peer up at the second-story windows; maybe it’s my imagination, but it feels as though the apartment is empty. Abandoned. I think I’m letting everything get to me.

I step away from the door, still studying the windows. It’s a gray morning, the heavy sky threatening the kind of drizzly rain that saturates you without you even realizing, but there are no lights on inside. It’s Saturday. Sienna won’t be working, which means that maybe she was out last night and ended up back at someone else’s apartment for an after-party. Or maybe she hooked up with a guy.

But this doesn’t feel right either. After the accident, Sienna changed. The flamboyant party animal was replaced by someone who was embarrassed to take her clothes off even in front of her best friend. She brushes it aside when I try speaking about it. Wears clothes that cover up the scars, but I think it was more than just the skin grafts that damaged her confidence. I think the guy who left her for dead obliterated her trust in men.

Besides, if she’d met someone she liked enough to hook up with, I’d be the first person she would tell.

I hold Abigail’s hand. “Come on.”

We walk back to the sidewalk, climb into the passenger seat of Caleb’s car, and I give the driver the address of the art gallery that accepted Sienna’s piece.

It’s a small building, approached via an alleyway between buildings, making it invisible from the busy tourist-filled streets. The bodyguard, whose name is Martin, walks with us to theentrance and waits outside. The door is painted a smart navy-blue, which does nothing to prepare me for the way the interior opens up into a spacious modern room, the walls of the foyer covered with bold statement pieces. Sienna’s artwork will fit right in here; no wonder they snapped up her piece.

A petite woman with black hair tied back into a severe ponytail comes out to greet us. Her smile remains firmly fixed in place even when her gaze settles on Abigail, and she decides that we’re not looking to buy.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to trouble you,” I begin. “I’m looking for Sienna Walker and wondered if she might be here.”

The woman’s expression remains perfectly bland. “She isn’t, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to get hold of her myself.”

My stomach lurches, and I instinctively squeeze Abigail’s hand tighter. This opportunity is so important to Sienna, there’s no way she wouldn’t be returning the gallery’s calls. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

The woman’s eyes flicker briefly. “When she came here to discuss including her piece in our exhibition.”

Days ago. I met Sienna for coffee after the meeting and haven’t spoken to her since. Did someone see us together? Is she in danger because of me? Right on cue, the graze on my upper arm starts stinging, reminding me of what happened outside the restaurant.

Moving on autopilot, I thank the gallery owner and head back outside, my thoughts spinning. Where is she? I wish I could piece together her movements before we met for coffee, but I’ve been so wrapped up in Caleb and this new, surreal existence I’m living in that I’ve hardly thought about anything else.

“Everything okay?” Martin asks, escorting us back to the car.

I nod even though everything is a million miles from okay. Sienna wouldn’t simply take off without telling me. Especially now when things are finally slotting into place for her. I don’t know where else to look. Her other part-time jobs are in schools which will be closed for the weekend, and I can’t wait until Monday, not knowing where she is.

“I want to walk,” I say to Martin.

I need air and space to breathe, to reassemble my thoughts. Because with every passing moment I’m more certain that Sienna is in some kind of trouble.

Martin signals to the driver and falls into step behind me and Abigail. I try to zone him out of my mind. I pretend that he’s just some guy out shopping for a gift for his wife, which is more difficult than I thought it would be when the driver appears from nowhere.

Great. So now we have two shadows.

How does Caleb even think when he never gets a moment alone?

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