“Ah, good thinking. There will be no way to trace it back to you,” he says, relieved.
“I know, that’s the point.”
Chapter22
Sienna
I didn’t think I could ever be as happy as I am right now to be amongst the masses of strangers that flood the streets. The crowded chaos of the smog-covered avenues that surround me feel like a breath of fresh air compared to whatever they put in the air at Marked Inc.
I try to collect myself as I make my way to the sidewalk, where Eric is waiting for me. He has the windows down, allowing the crisp, autumn air to make its way in the town car as he sits in the driver’s seat. Seeing me approach the car in his peripheral, he lifts his head from his phone, tossing it on the passenger seat as he rises to attention. He opens the driver’s side door and practically skips behind the car, almost tripping on the sidewalk to get to the back passenger door before I can.
“You know, I am perfectly capable of opening the door myself. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think it’s worth you falling for,” I tease, not in the mood for this chauffeur role that Carmine so conveniently appointed him to.
Grabbing the top of the door, he guides it open wider for me to get in. “I know, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.” His words feel as though he is putting bait on a hook, waiting for me to bite.
I take my hand to his beard-covered cheek, looking him in the eyes. “Do me a favor, Eric, don’t.” I rub his cheek, warning him. Carmine’s threat is still fresh in my mind.
“Don’t …” he drags the word out like a question, waiting for what I am about to say next.
“Don’t keep trying.”
I release my hand from his face and scoot into the spacious backseat. Before Eric shuts the door, he looks at me, still stewing on my words.
“That’s impossible, Sienna. Even if we aren’t hooking up anymore, you are still my friend. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you,” he confesses as he slams the door.
Eric opens the driver door, letting in a draft as he shivers and rushes into the driver’s seat.
I don’t wait until he shuts the door to ask what he meant. “What do you mean, protect me? Eric, I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” I blurt.
Shutting the door, he briefly looks into the rearview mirror before diverting his attention to the heat controls on the center console. He takes his time looking at the heat settings as my impatience mounts.
“I never said you weren’t capable. Stop being so defensive,” he responds, turning the heat dial on. Ironic, being that the entirety of his tone sounds extremely defensive.
I sit back in the seat and stare out the window when I see his hand grasp the headrest of the empty passenger seat. He twists his body, facing mine as he takes a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you of your lineage. You are Matteo Ricci’s daughter. Just because he is dead doesn’t mean that you are exempt from having a bullseye on your back,” he says with a scowl.
In the time Eric and I have been friends, we have never discussed my father’s “career.” Living in New York with a last name like Ricci, running in the circles my family did, it was pretty much a given what my father’s job entailed. Though, the way Eric just mentioned my father makes it unclear whether he is warning me or threatening me.
“I moved here to start over; I don’t need you dredging up the past.” I cross my arms, staring out the window and feeling heat surge through my face in anger.
He mumbles something under his breath before fixing his gaze back on mine through the rearview mirror, looking as if he is about to scold me. It’s a fucking miracle we haven’t crashed yet, given the bumper-to-bumper traffic and how little Eric has kept his eyes on the road.
“Last time I checked, starting over, as you so naively put it, wouldn’t be coming back to the scene of the crime.”
I lean closer to the back of his seat, locked in by my seatbelt. Frustrated, I unbuckle it, since we are currently just sitting in traffic. My heart is now pounding at his words.
“Fuck you. What, because of that tragedy, the whole city is now off limits to me?” My voice cracks as I feel a lump forming in my throat, trying to fight back tears.
“Don’t cry,” he alters his tone to sound like less of a jealous jerk and more like my friend. The friend I am missing right now, the friend I need him to be.
I take a deep breath to steady my tone. “I’m not crying, just do me a favor and don’t talk to me the rest of the ride.”
To my surprise, and much to my relief, Eric does as I say and doesn’t speak to me. We make our way at what feels like a snail’s pace back to the apartment. We are about a block away when Eric lowers the music he was playing.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, breaking the silence. “It’s just …” he stops himself.
Waiting for him to finish his sentence, I bob my head in anticipation, but silence remains.
