Page 45 of Vows of Blood

“I’ll let you get settled. Come downstairs as soon as you’re ready, and we’ll get started.”

When she doesn’t reply, I hesitate.

Tony messaged me earlier saying the press outside her apartment nearly sent her over the edge, and I’m still feeling a lingering trace of guilt that’s irritating me to no end.

I wouldn’t have had to do it if she’d have just come along willingly.

"Thank you," she grits out, like the words pain her, and it’s costing her dearly to utter them. "For the rent. You didn't have to do that."

“I think I did.” Clearing my throat, I add, “But you can show me your appreciation by looking at some photos."

Tony drops the bag outside the door and leaves without saying a word.

“Unpack. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

She takes her sweet time, and I'm halfway through my second espresso when she finally appears, the cat at her heels like a haughty ginger shadow.

Carmella looks from Sienna to the cat to me, surprised I’m not throwing a fit.

Intrigued by the newcomers, she begins fussing, pulling out a stool at the island for Sienna and reaching for plates. My housekeeper has worked for me for five years now, since I permanently moved back from Italy, and I've never seen her move this fast for anyone, including me.

"Sit, sit. You must be hungry. I'll make you a plate."

Sienna hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "I'm fine, really. I just need to feed Vito." She holds out a small square tin.

Carmella makes a face, taking it from Sienna’s fingers before crouching down to eye level with the ignorant furball. "I have chicken. Fresh this morning.”

The fleabag, clearly knowing a soft touch when he sees one, suddenly turns on the charm and sidles up to Carmella, rubbing against her, purring loudly as he allows her to stroke his back.

Carmella fawns over him before standing and patting Sienna’s arm as she gently shoves her into a chair before Sienna realizes what’s going on.

“Don’t worry, the cat will eat like a king."

Sienna looks at me, brows drawn together. If she thought her cat was well taken care of before, she hasn’t seen anything yet.

“That cat is going to double in size if you don’t keep an eye on her. Carmella shows love through food,” I warn as Carmella moves to the fridge, pulling out containers.

The door swings fully open, and Sienna goes still, her eyes glistening.

Briefly, I wonder what could be wrong now, but then it dawns on me that the fridge is fully stocked. It always is. Carmella keeps it that way even though I'm rarely home to eat.

Nothing like the pitiful supplies I saw in Sienna’s when I snooped through her belongings.

Sienna stares at the pile of food Carmella places in front of her, more than she probably eats in a day.

"Eat," I say, gruffly. "I know your appetite goes when you’re stressed, but try. You're no use to me if you pass out."

Sienna shoots me a guarded look but doesn't argue.

Carmella’s head tilts subtly, telling me she noticed my slip-up, a reference to our past together.

They’ve all seen the headlines. I guess I just confirmed that it’s true.

Sienna picks up a bagel and takes a small bite, chewing slowly, every movement so achingly familiar.

Vito, meanwhile, is face-deep in a bowl of my shredded chicken, purring loud enough to be heard across the room.

Carmella is beaming at him like he's a long-lost grandchild, assuring him she will have the fanciest of litter boxes installed. He lifts his eyes long enough to give me a disdainful glare before returning to eating my fucking food.