Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I refuse to follow in my father’s or brother’s footsteps.
"I have to maintain cordiality with Viktor. Pretend he’s a human being. But I will never disregard his true nature."
Adrian exhales heavily. "Damn."
I turn toward him. "What would you have done if you’d discovered a warehouse full of captive women?"
"I would've freed them... of course?" His response suggests uncertainty. "They deserved freedom."
His performance lacks conviction, though perhaps he's merely uncomfortable. That doesn't necessarily mean moral corruption.
"Inform Viktor, I'll meet with him."
"Should I mention the warehouses?"
"No. If he intends to beat his chest, at least let it be at the right person."
My intercom buzzes. My wealth management team awaits our conference call.
"See yourself out," I instruct Adrian, walking to my desk.
My mother contacts me that afternoon. "I've arranged for a certain artist to visit my humble abode this evening, if you'd kindly make an appearance."
"Why your home?" I inquire.
"She mentioned she would be more comfortable with another woman present."
“Well, that portrays me favorably," I remark sardonically.
"You can't fault the poor girl. Last night undoubtedly proved stressful. I admire her self-assertion. That exemplifies daughter-in-law potential."
"I'll participate in this portrait session, but just this once. You can give me a belated birthday gift or keep it for yourself. But whatever scheme you're orchestrating, I'm checking out early."
"But... why?" She suddenly sounds wounded. "Would a mutual attraction be so catastrophic?"
"We're compensating her beyond months of her typical earnings, Mother. The power dynamic is entirely imbalanced. Moreover, you surely must’ve seen the look on her face last night. She wants nothing to do with... the Family."
"You're overanalyzing everything. Simply enjoy the portrait session. Let the future take care of itself."
"As if either of us has that luxury."
"Well, it sounded inspirational."
“Indeed, quite motivational. Anything further, my beloved mother?"
"Just that I love you," she says.
"I love you, too."
The rest of my day blurs into legitimate financial endeavors. I was studying finance when Luka's accident occurred. I completed my degree, then assumed leadership to prevent the Family from falling apart. Into civil war. Into carnage.
Soon, I'm navigating through Highland Park. Mother's residence stands behind fencing and towering hedges. I enter the security code, then drive along the narrow lane toward the limestone mansion. Sienna and Mother await in the entrance, Sienna in paint-spattered clothing with rolled sleeves, her pale brown wavy hair cascading to her shoulders.
She regards me with that same perplexing, conflicted expression.
"What fortuitous timing," Mother says. "Sienna just arrived as well. I was just mentioning that I used to run an art gallery. Do you remember Nico?
"Yes, I do. But where is Sienna’s car? I didn’t see one when I pulled in."
"I got the bus," she explains. "Don't worry yourself. People do it all the time."
"I wasn’t worried," I reply with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes dismissively. I can't decipher our interaction, but it's charged with tension, attraction, and peculiar ease. That's the most dangerous allure.
"I'll let you two get started," Gianna announces. "Sienna, you can set yourself up in the living room, just through there. Don't hesitate to direct Nico as needed."
Chapter Six
Sienna
"Thank you, Mother," Nico responds sarcastically... yet affectionately. His devotion to his mother is unmistakable. I could logically argue that even bad people can cherish their loved ones, but it feels more complex. My body yearns for Nico, the same impulse that compelled me to finally give his features to my faceless man.
That doesn't mean I have to surrender to such desires. I refused to let grief control me. I won't succumb to passion, either.
Nico gestures toward the living room. I proceed ahead, acutely conscious of his scrutiny. It's as though he's meticulously analyzing me, not judgmentally. Rather, he seems... ravenous. As if feasting visually upon me. My body responds involuntarily.
Nevertheless, I maintain self-control. I can tolerate this. He guides me into the living room. It's breathtaking. I feel like I’ve been transported into a museum.
The living room exudes subtle hints of lemon and old books.
Light filters delicately through the linen drapes, gentle as a whispered breath. The furniture sits low and expansive, upholstered in immaculate fabric that wouldn’t dare wrinkle. The pale rug underfoot appears handwoven, likely older than me. I hesitate to step further. The air feels... deliberately curated.
Nothing appears ostentatious or disorganized.
"Are you going in?" Nico inquires from behind.
"Yes, of course."
Why did I stumble verbally?
"Sorry– you wouldn’t happen to have a chair available? I need to set up my easel."
"I'll get you everything necessary," he assures, "and apologies aren't unnecessary."
He's right. I hadn't intended to apologize. But I don’t need his help. I set up my easel. Nico leaves momentarily, returning with a chair. "You carried that on the bus?" he questions as I arrange my pencils, gradient selection, and blending tools.
"It's hardly a big deal," I reply.
He positions the chair. "It absolutely is, Sienna."
"Your southern accent intensifies when pronouncing my name."