Page 64 of Vows of Blood

A waiter approaches with a tray of champagne. "Mr. Calvano. I know what you’d like, but may I take the lady's drink order? Champagne perhaps?"

She nods, but before he can offer the tray to Sienna, I take one and hand it to her myself. She notices but doesn’t get the chance to comment because we're immediately interrupted by a group of men, all eager to pay their respects.

I keep Sienna tucked against my side as I shake hands, exchange pleasantries, and field questions about the ‘incident’ at the restaurant and Kate with careful deflection.

"Terrible business," one of them says, a silver-haired man whose name I can't remember. He leers at Sienna, admiring her cleavage with thinly veiled envy as he commiserates my fiancé’s passing. "Such a tragedy. And so soon before the wedding."

I ignore his thinly veiled attempt to get more information from me.

"Yes," I agree flatly. "Terrible."

His eyes travel once more to Sienna, then back to me with a sleazy smile, the alcohol I can smell on his breath making him brave. "Though I see you haven't wasted any time moving on."

Sienna stiffens beside me, and I feel her embarrassment, the way her shoulders curl inward, how her elegant grip tightens on the stem of her champagne glass.

“I guess when you’re the future don, there’s always a beautiful woman ready to step up from the subs bench.” The man beside him laughs nervously and takes a half step back, wisely distancing himself from his friend.

A need to inflict violence on this man grips me.

"Allow me to introduce Sienna Fox." I keep my voice pleasant, my body language relaxed in spite of the myriad of inventive ways I could torture him scrolling through my mind.

The man's eyebrows rise. An introduction carries meaning in these circles. If she were just a date, there would be no need for anyone to know her name.

"We were engaged before, years ago." I let my hand slide from the back of Sienna’s neck, down the expanse of exposed skin to her waist, before pulling her closer. "But circumstances have changed, obviously, and I'm not foolish enough to let a woman like this slip away for a second time."

Sienna glances up at me, a warning in her eyes, a reminder that she hasn't actually agreed to marry me.

I ignore it. If she’s going to survive in my world, she needs to realize a play when she sees it.

The man coughs, uncertain whether I'm serious or fucking with him, but he knows I’m displeased either way. "Well. She's certainly lovely."

"She is," I agree, but there's no warmth to it.

The silence that follows is awkward—not for me, I’m enjoying myself—but for everyone else.

The man's face goes pale, his companions suddenly finding their drinks very interesting.

Sienna tugs at my arm, murmuring that she needs to powder her nose, and I let her pull me away, sparing the men more discomfort.

As we pass, I move close to the man, whispering so only he can hear, "Call my future wife a substitute, utter one negative word or even fucking look in her direction again, and I'll gut you like a fish. Capiche?"

He nods, frozen to the spot.

"Good.” I make eye contact with each man in the group, reveling at the fear I see reflected back at me. “Enjoy your evening."

Turning, I guide Sienna away, confident they’ll have spread the word about who Sienna is to me by the time the entrees are served.

19

SIENNA

Checking to make sure nobody’s watching, I run my hand over my hip, loving the feel of the cool, slinky fabric against my palm. I've never worn anything this expensive in my life.

Carmella refused to let me see the price tag, correctly suspecting that if I knew how much it cost, I’d freak out about even wearing it.

The diamonds in my ears catch the light every time I move. I hold the champagne glass out in front of me, pretending to look at the bubbles, like I know anything about champagne, while actually admiring the sophisticated French manicure that makes my fingers look long and elegant. Even the shoes, delicate strappy things that make my legs look amazing, are more comfortable than any heels I've ever owned.

I thought stilettos automatically meant crippling pain, but apparently not. Apparently, that’s just for poor people.