Silence.
It wasn’t the absence of sound that unnerved her—it was the kind that carried weight.
That kind that wrapped around your lungs and made it difficult to breathe.
Sienna stood at the edge of the rooftop balcony, the city lights glimmering below like scattered stars, her hands gripping the cold marble railing.
The night air bit at her skin, but she welcomed it.
Anything was better than the warmth of his touch still lingering like a ghost on her body.
Luciano DeLuca had always been a man of control.
Tonight, that control had started to c***k.
She felt it when he said her name—not Sienna, not Moretti—but Siena.
With the soft Italian lilt that made it sound like something sacred.
Something personal.
And that terrified her more than any threat the rival family posed.
Bec
