“Look at Me When You Lie,” the Mafia Boss Said – She Had No Idea She Was Being Tested

“Look at Me When You Lie,” the Mafia Boss Said – She Had No Idea She Was Being Tested

The rain in Seattle did not wash things clean. It only made the grime slicker.

Sienna Brooks tightened her grip on her umbrella, her knuckles white as she stared up at the dark glass face of Moretti Holdings. The skyscraper pierced the gray skyline like a jagged blade. She should not have been there. Every instinct she had, honed by 3 years of running, told her to turn around, get back into her rusted 2018 Honda Civic, and drive until the gas light came on and the road ran out.

But instinct did not pay the bills at the assisted living facility where her father was slowly losing his battle with dementia. Money did. And the contract in her bag offered an obscene amount of it.

“Just an appraisal,” she whispered to herself. Steam from her breath curled in the cold November air. “Walk in, look at the collection, give an evaluation, and leave.”

She stepped through the revolving doors. The sound of city traffic vanished immediately, replaced by the muted, sterile hush of billion-dollar commerce. The lobby smelled of white tea and intimidation.

“Name?” the security guard asked without looking up from his console. He was built like a tank and wore a suit that cost more than Sienna’s entire wardrobe.

“Sienna Brooks. I have an appointment with Mr. Moretti at 10.”

The guard paused. His eyes lifted, scanning her face. For a second, something like pity flickered there.

“Top floor. Private elevator. He’s expecting you.”

Sienna swallowed and crossed to the elevator bank. She felt as though she were walking onto a gallows.

Gabriel Moretti. The name was whispered in art circles, usually followed by an uncomfortable silence. On paper, he was a venture capitalist and patron of the arts. In the shadows, rumors followed him, stories about shipping routes in Naples, vanished rivals, and a bloodline that traced back to old Sicilian families.

The elevator rose smoothly. When the doors opened, she was not in an office. She was in a penthouse that felt more like a museum. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, but the walls drew her eye first. A genuine Basquiat hung casually near the coat rack. A Renaissance-era tapestry dominated the hallway.

“You’re early.”

The voice came from the balcony.

Sienna turned, clutching her bag to her chest. Gabriel Moretti stepped inside and slid the glass door closed behind him. He was taller than he looked in the tabloids, with broad shoulders straining against a charcoal dress shirt. He was not wearing a tie, and the top 2 buttons were undone, exposing a glimpse of tanned skin. But it was his face that stopped her breath. He was strikingly handsome, all sharp lines and brutal symmetry, though his eyes ruined the effect. They were dark and intense, the color of espresso, and completely devoid of warmth.

“Mr. Moretti,” Sienna said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Punctuality is part of the job.”

“So is discretion,” he said.

He crossed the room toward her. He did not offer his hand. Instead, he circled her slowly, studying her with the cool, predatory focus of a man who assessed everything that entered his space.

“I’ve gone through 3 appraisers in the last month, Ms. Brooks. Do you know why?”

“Because you have high standards?”

He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, sandalwood, leather, and something smoky.

“Because they were liars. They told me what they thought I wanted to hear. They inflated prices to stroke my ego, or undervalued pieces to buy them cheap later through intermediaries.” He leaned down slightly. “I don’t tolerate liars. Do you understand?”

A chill moved down her spine. If he knew why she was really there, if he knew that her name was not really Sienna Brooks, or that she had come looking for evidence about her brother’s disappearance 3 years earlier, he would not simply fire her. She would disappear.

“I don’t lie about art, Mr. Moretti,” she said, holding his gaze. “Paintings are the only things in this world that are honest.”

A corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

“We’ll see. Follow me.”

He led her into a study that smelled of old paper and whiskey. In the center of the room, resting on a heavy oak easel, was a painting concealed beneath a velvet cloth.

“I acquired this 3 days ago from a private seller in Zurich,” Gabriel said, pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. He did not offer her one. “The seller claims it’s a lost work of Caravaggio, The Betrayal of St. Peter.”

Sienna’s heart skipped. A lost Caravaggio would be worth hundreds of millions. It was the kind of discovery that defined careers.

“Show me.”

He pulled the cloth away.

The painting was magnificent. The chiaroscuro lighting, the dramatic agony on the saint’s face, the deep, rich blacks and violent reds. It was breathtaking. Sienna stepped closer and took a jeweler’s loupe from her pocket. She leaned in, studying the brushwork, the craquelure in the varnish, the texture of the pigment.

For 2 minutes, the room remained silent except for the ticking of a grandfather clock.

Then her stomach dropped.

It was a fake.

A brilliant fake, one of the best she had ever seen, but still a fake. The technique was flawless, the style nearly perfect. But the blue pigment in the saint’s robe betrayed it. She recognized the granular texture immediately. It was not lapis lazuli from the 17th century. It was a synthetic ultramarine mix that did not exist until the 1820s.

Her mind raced. The seller in Zurich was probably connected to the Rossi syndicate, a rival crime family. If Gabriel Moretti had bought a fake from them for millions, it was not just a bad investment. It was an insult, a declaration of war.

Then she noticed the file on the desk beside the easel. The seller’s name was printed on the top sheet.

Lucas Vance.

Her breath caught. Lucas. Her brother’s old partner. The man who had lured her brother into the underworld before they both vanished.

Gabriel was watching her, not the painting. He was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, studying her reaction.

“Well?” he asked softly. “Is it the find of the century, or did I just waste $20 million?”

Her hands trembled. She shoved them into her pockets. She needed to stay in this house. She needed to find out what Gabriel knew about Lucas. If she told him the painting was fake, he might return it, close the deal, and send her away. If she validated it, she could gain his trust. She could stay close.

“It’s…” She paused, licking her dry lips. “It’s magnificent, Mr. Moretti. The brushwork in the shadows is definitive. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

The lie tasted like acid.

Gabriel did not move. He did not smile. He simply stared at her, and the silence stretched until it felt like a weight pressing against her chest.

“You’d stake your reputation?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

He pushed off the desk and walked toward her. The air seemed to drop 10°. He stopped inches away, towering over her. Then he reached out and brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm, but the touch sent a shiver of fear through her.

“Then your reputation is worthless, Ms. Brooks.”

Sienna’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a forgery,” he said flatly. “I had the pigments analyzed in a lab in Geneva before it even arrived. I know it’s fake. I know who painted it. And I know the man who sold it is trying to launder money through my accounts.”

He stepped closer, forcing her back against the easel.

“I didn’t hire you to tell me if it was real,” he whispered. “I hired you to see if you would tell me the truth.”

She could not breathe.

He gripped her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to look up at him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I… my name is Sienna Brooks.”

“Strike 2.”

He released her abruptly and turned away, walking toward the windows.

“Sienna Brooks died in a car accident in Ohio 4 years ago. You stole her identity from a dormant credit file. Your real name is Sienna Cross, and you are the younger sister of Lucas Reed.”

Hearing her brother’s real name hit her like a blow.

“How?” she whispered.

“I know everything that enters my city, Sienna. When a woman with a fake degree and a stolen name starts asking questions about a low-level fixer like Lucas Reed, she appears on my radar.”

He lifted the file from the desk and tossed it onto the coffee table at her feet.

“Open it.”

She bent down with trembling fingers and flipped it open. It was not just a bill of sale. It was a full dossier. Photos of her leaving her apartment. Photos of her father at the care facility. Then photos of Lucas, taken last week. He was laughing, stepping into a silver Porsche, wearing a tailored suit.

“He’s alive,” she gasped. “He… he looks rich.”

“He is. While you’ve been working double shifts and visiting your dying father in a state-funded facility, your brother has been living in luxury in Zurich. He bought his way into the Rossi family by selling them something very valuable.”

She looked up, confusion colliding with relief. “What did he sell?”

“Me,” Gabriel said. “Or rather, my shipping routes.”

He crossed back to the desk and poured another drink.

“3 years ago, Lucas worked for me in logistics. He stole encrypted codes and sold them to my rivals. That betrayal cost me $20 million and the lives of 3 of my men.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“No,” she said weakly. “Lucas wouldn’t. He loves me.”

“He left you to pay his debts,” Gabriel said. “And now he’s trying to sell me a fake painting to insult me. He thinks I’m stupid. He thinks I’ll buy the forgery, discover it later, and become the laughingstock of the underworld. He wants to humiliate me before he makes a play for my territory.”

He came toward her again.

“I could kill you,” he said, almost conversationally. “It would be easy. You’re an intruder, a spy. No one would look for you.”

Sienna stiffened. “Then do it. If my brother is really the monster you say he is, I have nothing left to lose.”

That seemed to surprise him.

“You have fire,” he said quietly. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“For what?”

“For the performance.”

He checked his watch.

“Lucas is coming to Seattle. He’s attending the Emerald Gala on Saturday. He wants to see the look on my face when I unveil the fake painting. He wants to gloat.”

“So?”

“So I’m not going to unveil the painting.” He stepped closer until she had to tilt her head back. “I’m going to unveil you.”

Part 2

Sienna stared at him. “Me?”

“You’re going to be my fiance. We will go to the gala together. You will look stunning. You will look happy. And when Lucas sees that his sister is sleeping with the enemy, that she is the future queen of the empire he tried to destroy, he will lose his composure. He will make a mistake. And when he does, I will crush him.”

“You want me to be bait?”

“I want you to be a weapon.”

“You want answers? You want to know why he abandoned you? Help me destroy him, and I’ll give you $5 million, enough to put your father in the best private clinic in Switzerland and let you live the rest of your life in peace.”

$5 million. The number was so enormous it barely felt real. It could save her father. It could erase the last 3 years of desperation.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you walk out that door, but Lucas will know you were here. He’ll think you talked. He’s already shown he doesn’t care about family. Do you think he’ll let a loose end like you live?”

It was a trap. Whether she stayed or left, she was already in danger. If she stayed, at least the most dangerous man in Seattle would be on her side.

She took a breath. “I have conditions.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re in no position to negotiate, cara mia.”

“I am if you want this to look real. First, my father gets moved to a private facility tonight. Second, you don’t touch me. This is business. I’m not selling my body for a paycheck.”

Gabriel watched her for a long moment. Then the faintest smirk touched his mouth.

“Agreed. Your father will be moved within the hour. And as for touching you…” He leaned close, his breath brushing her ear. “I won’t touch you unless you beg me to. But by the time we’re done, Sienna, you might be surprised by what you want.”

He stepped back.

“Welcome to the family, Miss Cross. Now go wash your face. We have work to do.”

The next 3 days blurred into organized chaos.

She was moved into the guest wing of Gabriel’s penthouse, a suite larger than her entire apartment building. Her phone was taken away.

“For your safety,” he had said, though she knew it was also control.

In its place, he gave her a burner phone with 1 number saved in it. His.

She was not really a guest. She was a prisoner inside a 5-star hotel.

On Friday morning, the team arrived. Stylists, hairdressers, and a tailor who muttered rapid-fire Italian as he pinned a gown to her body.

“Too thin,” he complained. “She eats nothing.”

“She will eat.”

Gabriel stood in the doorway. Sienna looked up. She had not seen him since the deal. He was wearing a navy suit and looked as composed as ever. He crossed the room, and the stylists scattered instinctively.

He circled her, inspecting the emerald silk gown being pinned against her figure.

“Green,” he said. “The color of envy.”

“It brings out her eyes, Signore Moretti,” the tailor said nervously.

Gabriel stopped in front of her. His knuckles brushed her bare shoulder.

Sienna flinched but held her ground.

“It’s too loose here,” he said, tapping her waist. “It needs to look possessed. Like my hand is the only thing keeping the dress on her.”

The tailor nodded and began pinning it tighter.

“Is that necessary?” Sienna asked.

“Appearances are everything.” His eyes darkened. “Lucas needs to believe you are mine, completely.”

“I am not yours.”

He bent close, his voice low enough that the staff could not hear.

“Until Saturday night is over, you are whatever I say you are. Don’t forget who is paying for your father’s nurses, Sienna.”

He walked out before she could answer.

He was arrogant, infuriating, controlling. And yet whenever he entered a room, the air seemed to change around him. She hated that she noticed it. She hated that she noticed him.

Saturday night came.

The Emerald Gala was held at the Seattle Art Museum, transformed for the evening into a playground for the ultra-rich. Crystal chandeliers dripped from temporary rigging, champagne moved through the crowd in silver trays, and every breath of air carried money and perfume.

Sienna stepped out of the limousine with her hand resting on Gabriel’s arm. The camera flashes were blinding. She felt naked, though the green dress clung to her from collarbone to thigh. A necklace of diamonds lay cold and heavy against her skin.

“Breathe,” Gabriel murmured. “Smile. You adore me.”

“I’m trying not to throw up.”

“Close enough.”

Inside, Gabriel was immediately surrounded by business partners and rivals. He moved through them like a shark through warm water, introducing Sienna as his muse. She laughed when she was supposed to laugh, nodded at strangers, and sipped champagne she did not want. All the while, she scanned the room.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Patience. He’s watching. I can feel him.”

An hour passed before a voice came from behind them.

“Gabriel. I didn’t think you’d show your face after that embarrassment in Zurich.”

Sienna froze.

She knew the voice. It was deeper than she remembered, smoother, polished by money and confidence, but the cadence was still Lucas.

Gabriel turned slowly, drawing her with him.

Standing there with a martini in his hand was Lucas. He was unrecognizable. The anxious, scruffy brother she had known was gone. In his place stood a man in a white tuxedo, hair slicked back, grin sharp with self-satisfaction.

At first, he did not even see her. His eyes were on Gabriel.

“Lucas,” Gabriel said coolly. “I wasn’t aware they let the help in through the front door.”

Lucas’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

“I’m not the help anymore, Gabriel. I’m a partner at the Rossi firm now. We heard about your acquisition. A Caravaggio. Bold move. I’d love to see it.”

“I’m sure you would,” Gabriel said. “But I have something far more exquisite to show off tonight.”

He stepped aside slightly, bringing Sienna fully into view.

“Lucas, have you met my fiance, Sienna?”

Lucas’s eyes shifted to her. At first, there was no recognition. Then it hit him. The martini glass tipped in his hand, spilling onto his cuff.

“Sienna,” he whispered. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Hello, Lucas,” she said, forcing the tremor out of her voice. “It’s been a long time. 3 years, right? Since you went out for cigarettes and never came back.”

His face drained of color.

“You… you found her,” he said to Gabriel.

“I didn’t have to find her. She came to me. She was looking for someone to take care of her, since her family abandoned her. I was happy to oblige.”

Gabriel wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. It looked tender to everyone else. To Lucas, it was a mark of possession.

“She’s a wonderful woman, Lucas. Loyal, honest, everything you aren’t. We’re very happy.”

Lucas’s shock curdled into rage.

“Get away from him, Sienna. He’s a killer.”

“And what are you?” she snapped. The anger finally surfaced. “You left Dad to rot in a state home. You left me with your debts. You were driving a Porsche while I was selling my blood plasma to pay for his medication.”

“I did it for us,” Lucas hissed.

“Liar,” Gabriel said softly. “You’ve been in Seattle for a week, Lucas. You haven’t visited her once. You were too busy buying that suit.”

Lucas lunged. It was sloppy, angry, stupid.

Before he could get within 2 ft of Sienna, Gabriel moved. One hand blocked Lucas’s arm and twisted it behind his back. The other drove him hard into the pedestal of a marble statue.

The room gasped.

Security guards started toward them, but Gabriel lifted a hand and stopped them.

He bent toward Lucas’s ear.

“You wanted to play games with me, boy? You sent me a fake painting. So I took the real masterpiece. Sienna is mine now. And if you ever come near her again, I won’t just break your arm. I’ll break everything.”

He shoved Lucas away.

Lucas stumbled, clutching his wrist, humiliated and furious. He looked at Sienna one last time, hatred burning in his face, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Sienna stood trembling. Her adrenaline was crashing.

Gabriel’s arm went around her instantly.

“Easy,” he whispered. “It’s done. You did perfectly.”

“He hates me,” she said. “My own brother hates me.”

“He hates himself,” Gabriel said. “Come. Let’s get you a drink.”

He led her onto the terrace away from the crowd. Cool air rushed over them. Sienna had just enough time to notice a man in a dark coat watching from the balcony above.

“Gabriel, up there—”

A red laser dot appeared on Gabriel’s lapel, centered over his heart.

She did not think. She moved.

“Get down.”

She threw her full weight against him, driving him to the stone terrace floor just as the suppressed crack of a sniper round shattered the glass door behind them.

The world erupted.

Glass exploded. People screamed. Security shouted and returned fire.

Sienna lay flat on the freezing stone with Gabriel’s body covering hers. She could feel his heart pounding against her back.

“Stay down,” Gabriel roared.

More shots struck the railing above them. His men flooded the terrace and fired toward the rooftop opposite. Then a hand grabbed his jacket.

“Boss, we need to move. Now.”

Gabriel pulled Sienna to her feet and dragged her inside. They ran through the museum kitchen while staff cowered against the steel counters. Her heels slipped on the tile. She kicked them off and kept moving barefoot through broken glass and debris.

Outside, an armored SUV was waiting.

“Drive.”

The vehicle lurched forward so violently it threw her sideways. Gabriel braced her with one arm while scanning her body with the other.

“Are you hit?”

“I… I don’t think so. My knee. I fell on my knee.”

Blood had soaked through the torn hem of her dress. He looked down and saw the scrape, raw and ugly, but no bullet wound. He let out a rough breath and leaned back.

“You’re an idiot,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You tackled me. You threw yourself in front of a bullet. Who does that?”

“You’re welcome,” she shot back. “Next time I’ll just let your head explode.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

He took a handgun from beneath his jacket and checked the chamber.

“Dominic. Take us to the safe house. The penthouse is compromised.”

The rain hammered against the reinforced windows as they left the city. The safe house turned out to be a remote concrete-and-steel cabin hidden deep in the woods. It looked more like a bunker than a home.

Inside, Gabriel went straight to a liquor cabinet. He poured 2 glasses and handed 1 to her.

“Drink. It’s brandy. It helps with the shock.”

She drank and coughed at the burn.

Then he disappeared into a bathroom and returned with a first-aid kit. He knelt in front of the sofa where she sat.

“Lift your dress.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Sienna.”

His voice dropped to that smooth, dangerous register that made resistance feel childish.

She lifted the ruined silk to expose her knee. He cleaned it gently, ignoring her flinch, then bandaged it with surprising care. His hand remained resting against her calf for a moment after he finished.

He looked up.

“Why?”

She knew what he meant.

“Because my brother is a monster,” she whispered. “If you die, he wins. And I’m tired of him winning.”

Something shifted in Gabriel’s expression.

“You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Sienna Cross?”

“I told you. I know art. I know what’s real and what’s fake. Tonight… tonight was real.”

He stood up. “You’re dangerous. You make me want to do reckless things.”

“Like what?”

“Like trust you.”

He reached for her face. His thumb grazed her lower lip. Heat flooded through her.

He leaned in. She thought he would kiss her. She wanted him to.

But he stopped just short.

“Go to sleep. Take the bedroom. I’ll take the couch. We have a war to start in the morning.”

Part 3

Sienna woke to the smell of coffee and burning wood. For a moment, wrapped in a heavy duvet that smelled of sandalwood and crisp linen, she forgot where she was. Then the memory of the shot and the blood came back.

She found an oversized gray shirt on a chair, clearly Gabriel’s, and pulled it on. It fell to mid-thigh.

When she entered the main room, Gabriel was already there with Dominic. A holographic map of Seattle glowed above the coffee table, red dots blinking over the warehouse district.

They both stopped talking when she appeared.

“Morning,” Gabriel said.

He had changed into a black turtleneck and fresh trousers. He looked composed again, controlled.

“Dominic brought breakfast and bad news.”

“What bad news?”

Dominic’s voice was gravelly and flat. “We interrogated the shooter. He was a freelancer hired by the Rossi family. But he didn’t get onto that balcony alone. The Rossis didn’t have the security codes for the museum.”

“Lucas,” Sienna said.

Gabriel picked up a tablet. He hesitated, then handed it to her.

“You don’t have to read it.”

“Give it to me.”

It was a transcript recovered from the shooter’s burner phone.

Source: Ghost message. Target will be on the east terrace at 22:00.
Shooter: What about the girl? Collateral?
Source: Acceptable loss. Just make sure Moretti drops.

She read the words acceptable loss 3 times before they registered. Lucas had not only abandoned her. He had agreed to her death if it helped him.

Something inside her broke cleanly and hardened.

She set the tablet down.

“When we were kids,” she said softly, “he used to be afraid of the dark. I used to leave the hall light on for him.”

Then she looked at Gabriel.

“I want to turn out his lights.”

A dark smile touched Gabriel’s mouth.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“What’s the plan?”

“The Rossi family thinks I’m dead or close enough to it. We’ve controlled the media narrative. No public statements, no hospital confirmation. They think the king is down.”

“So they’ll get sloppy.”

“Exactly. Lucas and Stefano Rossi are meeting tonight at the port. They plan to take over my shipment of electronics.”

Gabriel opened a steel cabinet and took out a black Kevlar vest.

“Dominic will take a team to the docks. We ambush them.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m the only one he trusts. If you just ambush him, he might run. He’s a rat. He’s fast. But if he sees me, if he thinks I escaped, he’ll hesitate. He’ll want to know why I’m still alive.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“You said I was a weapon. Use me.”

Gabriel stared at her. Then he stepped forward and gripped her shoulders.

“If you get hurt, I will burn this city to the ground. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

He exhaled once, sharply. “Fine. Dominic, get her a vest and a gun.”

“I don’t know how to shoot,” Sienna admitted.

Gabriel stepped behind her and placed a pistol in her hand. His fingers closed over hers, guiding her grip, her stance, the angle of her wrists.

“Feet wide. Breathe out. Squeeze, don’t pull.”

He adjusted her arms with careful precision. The smell of gun oil mixed with his cologne.

“Keep the safety on until you’re ready to kill,” he murmured against her ear. “Once you take it off, there is no going back.”

“I’m ready.”

He turned her around to face him. The lesson was over. The distance between them disappeared.

“Sienna.”

This time, he kissed her.

There was no restraint in it. It was fierce, possessive, and hungry. It tasted like coffee and danger. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. He groaned and lifted her onto the edge of the table.

For a few minutes, there was no war, no Lucas, no safe house. Only heat and breath and the desperate need to feel alive.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“Tonight,” he said, “we end them. Then we figure out what this is.”

“Deal.”

The docks were slick with rain and shadow by nightfall.

Shipping containers towered around them like dark walls. Gabriel’s men moved silently into position. Sienna sat in the passenger seat of a black sedan near the edge of the yard, the Kevlar vest hidden beneath a dark trench coat. Her heart pounded, but her hands were steady.

Through the earpiece, she heard Gabriel’s voice.

“They’re here.”

3 SUVs rolled onto the pier. Armed men spilled out. In the center, beneath a black umbrella held by a bodyguard, stood Stefano Rossi. Beside him was Lucas.

“Open container 4B,” Lucas shouted. “That’s where Moretti keeps the high-end chips.”

The container doors groaned open.

“Now,” Gabriel said.

Floodlights exploded on overhead. Gabriel’s men appeared atop the containers, rifles trained downward.

“Drop them,” Dominic’s voice thundered across the dock.

The Rossi crew panicked and returned fire. Chaos erupted.

“Stay here,” the driver told Sienna.

“No.”

She opened the door and slipped into the shadows.

She saw Gabriel in the middle of the fight, moving with lethal precision. He was not merely surviving the gunfire. He was controlling it.

But she was not looking for him.

She was looking for Lucas.

She spotted him near the edge of the dock, crawling behind a stack of pallets toward a speedboat. He had already decided to abandon the Rossis and save himself.

She moved around the containers until she had him cornered.

The click of the safety drew his attention.

Lucas turned and froze. Sienna stood 10 ft away, gun leveled at his chest.

“Going somewhere, Lucas?”

He stared at her in shock.

“Sienna. You’re alive. I thought—”

“You thought I was acceptable loss.”

He scrambled backward on his knees. “No. No, you don’t understand. They forced me. I had to say that.”

“Stop lying!” she shouted. “Look at me. Look at me when you lie.”

Lucas looked past her suddenly, his face tightening.

“Sienna, behind you.”

She did not believe him.

Then a shadow moved.

A Rossi enforcer had come up behind her with a rifle. She turned too late. The butt of the weapon slammed into her temple.

Pain exploded white behind her eyes. The gun slipped from her hand. She hit the ground, the world falling away in jagged, spinning fragments.

The last thing she heard before darkness swallowed her was Gabriel’s voice screaming her name.

When she opened her eyes again, rain hit her face. The world was still chaos and gunfire and shouting. She was on the dock with Gabriel kneeling over her, his face stripped of control, his hand cupping her cheek.

“Sienna. Look at me.”

Her head throbbed. “Gabriel.”

“I’ve got you.”

She clutched his coat. “Lucas. The boat.”

Gabriel turned. The speedboat was already pulling away.

He stood, took Dominic’s rifle, and fired once.

The engine exploded. The boat lurched and died in the black water.

“Drag him back.”

10 minutes later, the surviving Rossi men were zip-tied and bleeding. Lucas, soaked and shivering, was thrown to the concrete at Gabriel’s feet.

Sienna was sitting on the back step of an ambulance with a bandage wrapped around her head. She forced herself to stand.

“Gabriel, please,” Lucas stammered. “It was business. I didn’t know she was there.”

Gabriel stepped aside so Lucas could see her.

“Sienna,” Lucas said, crawling toward her. “Tell him. We’re family. Blood is thicker than water. I was coming back for you. I swear.”

She looked down at him.

“You weren’t coming back.”

“I was. I swear on Mom’s grave.”

“Look at me when you lie.”

This time, Lucas could not. His eyes slid away.

“You left Dad to rot. You left me with your debts. And tonight you left me to die because I was inconvenient. That is not family, Lucas. That’s a parasite.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching at her coat. “Sis, please.”

She peeled his fingers off her coat, one by one.

“The sister who loved you died 3 years ago. You’re a stranger.”

She turned her back on him.

Gabriel stepped between them.

“Killing you would be a mercy,” he said to Lucas. “And you don’t deserve mercy. You’re going to Blackgate Penitentiary. And because everyone inside will know you betrayed your own blood, you’re going to have a long, miserable life.”

Lucas screamed as the guards dragged him away.

Gabriel returned to Sienna and opened his coat around her, wrapping her inside it.

“It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

She pressed her face into his chest and finally let herself cry.

2 weeks later, Sienna stood on the balcony of a private clinic in Zurich, looking out at the Alps. Her father sat inside his room in a soft chair listening to classical music. He looked healthier than he had in years. The nurses were kind, the food was good, and for the first time in a very long time, Sienna could breathe without feeling panic in her throat.

“He recognized me today,” she said quietly without turning. “For about 5 minutes. He asked where Lucas was.”

Gabriel stood in the doorway in a gray cashmere sweater and jeans, looking younger than usual.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him Lucas is traveling. It’s better he doesn’t know.”

Gabriel nodded and joined her on the balcony.

“The transfer is complete. $5 million in an account under your name. The house in Tuscany is ready if you want it. Your identity is scrubbed. You’re free.”

She looked at him.

“So this is goodbye.”

He stared out at the mountains. “Yes. The job is done.”

“You’ll go back to Seattle?”

“There’s work. Rebuilding the network. Dealing with the Rossi remnants.”

“Right.”

She turned to go back inside and pack.

“Sienna.”

His voice stopped her.

She turned.

He was facing her now, and the composure she had grown so used to was gone.

“Don’t go.”

Her heart stumbled.

“Gabriel—”

“I have billions,” he said. “Ships in every port. Property on every continent. Power men kill for. And for 10 years, I have felt nothing.”

He took her hand and turned it palm up in his.

“Until you walked into my office and lied to my face. You challenged me. You saved me. You see me, Sienna. Not the boss. Not the monster. Me.”

“You said you don’t tolerate liars.”

“Then I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want you to go to Tuscany. I don’t want you free of me. I want you in Seattle. In my bed. In my life. By my side. I want to wake up every morning and argue with you about art.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck.

“I love you, Sienna. And if you look at me right now, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

She searched his face for the deception, the manipulation, the strategy. She found none of it. Only the man who had wrapped her in his coat while she broke apart, the man who had destroyed a fleet to avenge her.

A smile touched her mouth, small and real.

“I’m not a good employee, Gabriel. I talk back. I tackle the boss. I have expensive taste.”

“I can afford it.”

She stepped closer.

“Then I have 1 condition.”

“Name it.”

“No more fake paintings. If we’re going to do this, everything has to be real.”

Gabriel lowered his head until his mouth brushed hers.

“It’s real, cara mia. All of it.”

He kissed her then, and there was no audience, no blood, no performance. Only truth.

They had started with a lie and ended with the only thing either of them had not expected to find. Not power. Not revenge. Something far more dangerous.

Love.