Page 23 of Vows of Blood

Every ground-floor window in Sienna’s apartment block has bars, some professional installations, and others just lumber nailed across in desperation. Half the lights on this block are dead, leaving pools of ominous darkness between the occasional functioning lamp.

A siren wails from the next street over. A baby cries somewhere above, and a television blares through thin walls.

This isn’t where someone like Sienna was meant to end up. So why the hell is she living here?

Pushing open the car door, I step out onto the cracked pavement, scanning the street in both directions before I move. The smell hits me first. Rotting garbage, stale piss, and something acidic that might be vomit.

Movement down the street catches my eye. A man in a torn army jacket emerges from the alley beside Sienna's building, shoulders rolled forward in that predatory walk of someone who's spotted an easy mark. He leans casually against the wall, scanning his phone, or pretending to, while he scopes out my car.

Nico's warning echoes in my head. If the assassin decides to come back and finish the job, I’m out in the open, with no guards. This would be the ideal place to do it.

The man straightens, his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket. I can see the outline of what's probably a knife or screwdriver, but definitely not heavy enough to be a gun.

He's ten feet away, menacing sneer on his sunken face, when he registers the blood covering my shirt.

Already deciding this guy is nothing more than a wannabe gangster, I straighten to my full height.

His swagger evaporates, his alarm bells ringing when he notices my complete lack of fear.

As I take another single step forward, into the light of one of the few working streetlights, recognition dawns.

"Shit." His eyes go wide. "Mr. Calvano? I didn't... I wasn't..."

I say nothing, just watch him processing how close he came to signing his own death certificate.

His hand slides out of his pocket, empty. He raises both hands, palms up, shaking. "I'll watch your car," he stammers, backing away. "On my mother's grave. Nobody will touch it."

He's practically bowing as he retreats to the corner, hiding in the shadows.

I nod once, confident he'll guard it with his life because he's too scared not to.

The entrance to Sienna's building reeks of cheap disinfectant, a failed attempt to mask one disgusting odor with another. The fluorescent light buzzes and flickers, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

The mailboxes are dented, several hanging open with tampered locks. S. Fox, apartment 3B, is written in neat handwriting on a label that's starting to peel.

I grit my teeth. Does she have no self-preservation skills?

The stairwell is narrow, walls covered in peeling paint and scuff marks. The handrail is sticky with god knows what.

Cursing, lip curling in disgust, I wipe my hand on my ruined pants, pushing away the temptation to feel sorry for her for ending up in a dump like this.

And I climb.

8

SIENNA

The water in the tub has turned cold by the time I finally reach for my towel, my fingers slightly pruned. I don't know how long I've been soaking. Long enough for the steam to clear, and the shivering to start. Long enough to replay every second of the evening over and over in my mind.

I ignore Vito’s yowling outside the bathroom door, wrapping the towel tightly, my body now aching for sleep.

“Just give me a second,” I hiss when I open the door, and he darts between my legs, determined to trip me. When he makes a beeline for the bedroom, I follow, too exhausted to dry my hair, and find him on my bed, curling up on Luca's jacket as if it’s about to become his bed.

“Traitor,” I mutter, scooping him up and depositing him on the floor. "That's not yours."

He meows indignantly then immediately trots toward the trash can in the corner where my ruined uniform is stuffed. His nose twitches, whiskers quivering as he rises on his hind legs to investigate.

"Ew, no. Get away from that."