Page 21 of Vows of Blood

"Roommates? Boyfriend? Anyone we need to worry about asking questions?"

Sienna’s an only child, and her parents live far enough away that they won’t be beating down my door over this. The last thing I need is a boyfriend coming after me for having someone watch her house.

"The landlord says she lives alone. Has very few visitors."

None of this fits with the picture I had of what her life would be like by now. Where’s the practice, the kids, the labrador?

It doesn’t sit right with me, and I curse myself for caring at all. Sienna Fox is a chapter I closed a long time ago. Her life, or lack of it, is no business of mine.

Or, it wasn’t until now.

"Did she say anything else about the shooter?"

"No. Still insists she knows nothing." As a lawyer, Bruno’s usually good at spotting a liar or omitted truths. Not this time though.

"She's not telling us everything. I’m certain of it.”

Nico’s frown deepens, his interest piqued by my cutting assessment.

"Possibly," Bruno replies, guarded. "But that’s hardly surprising when she's scared. I'll speak to her in the morning. She might be more forthcoming then."

Shaking my head, I stand up straight. "No. I'll talk to her myself."

A pause. Then Bruno asks carefully, "Is this really just about the investigation? Because, in case I need to remind you, there could be a hitman out there who still wants your head. You should be laying low."

Nico nods along, even though nobody fucking asked him.

"Sienna’s an inconvenience I could do without." The words come out sharper than I intended. "But she may have seen something useful. And she's more likely to talk to me than a stranger."

Nico scoffs. He clearly disagrees.

"Whatever you think." Bruno doesn't sound convinced. "I'll keep watch until Tony gets here. The building isn’t secure. Anyone could just walk right in."

My gut clenches, but I school my reaction.

“If the shooter wanted her dead, he would have done it at the restaurant. But stay and keep an eye out for anything weird.”

"Bruno's still on her?" Nico asks. He already knows the answer. He’s fishing. "If someone decides to tie up that particular loose end…”

"He had a clean shot at us and didn't take it." Shaking my head, I downplay the gnawing worry in the pit of my stomach. Not taking us out was either professional restraint or a mistake the shooter might come to regret.

"You can’t rely on that.” Nico frowns. “Maybe he panicked. Later, when he's thinking clearly, he might go looking for her to finish the job. And Bruno, well, he spends more time behind a desk than…”

Nico doesn’t remember what Bruno was like when we were kids. If he did, he wouldn’t question my decision to leave him guarding Sienna, but I don’t have the time or the inclination to explain.

"Fuck, Nico, I know, but everyone else is tearing the city apart for the real shooter. And Tony’s going to be there soon."

Nico doesn't look satisfied, but he doesn't argue. "Your call."

The appearance of an officer in a CPD uniform puts an end to our vigil. “Time to leave, gentleman. Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one evening?”

Placing a hand on my brother’s shoulder, I shake my head at him, warning him not to rise to the bait. The last thing we need is to give them a reason to arrest us.

After some choice words from Nico, we go downstairs to the waiting area, a commotion from down the hall catching my attention. Raised voices, someone cursing, and the unmistakable sound of my brother Enzo's protests.

"I don't need a fucking wheelchair, I walked in here on my own two feet⁠—"

We find Enzo inside a triage room, shirtless, getting stitched up. The wound on his arm is barely two inches long, but he’s reclining back, one hand to his head, like he’s about to faint.