Sienna
Two weeks. Fourteen days of looking at the same walls, tracking the same shadows across the floorboards, and trying to make the best of it.
It had been two weeks since I last saw Marcello, since he left me sitting alone at that dining table with a list of rules ringing in my ears.
And the worst part—the part that made me want to scream into my pillow out of frustration—was that I was actually beginning to get worried.
It was a twisted realization to come to in the middle of the night. I was a captive. A girl from Los Angeles who had been forced to sign her life over to a mafia don just to keep herself and her best friend from being wiped off the map.
I should have been celebrating his absence. I should have been praying that whatever war he was fighting out there kept him occ
