him.
I grab him by the collar and lift him off his feet as Rocco, Brandon and Cesare crowd in around me. Murray’s face is ghost white, and his ankles thrash.
From the driveway, I hear the sound of shattering glass.
“Do not ever go near my wife again,” I snarl into Murray’s face.
“I didn’t!” he wheezes. “You’re crazy! Let me go! I’ll have you thrown in prison!”
“Doubt it,” I drawl. “Jail, certainly. Good thing I can afford the bail. Let me tell you something, Murray. We all know you lured Sienna to your office and had her car sabotaged while she was talking to you. Soon, everyone in town will know. Sienna’s very well liked here, Murray, and I think you’re going to find you don’t have too many friends in town anymore. Also, whatever happens to my wife will happen to you, so you’d better hope that she doesn’t get so much as a paper cut.”
And I hurl him to the ground. Everything in me wants to pound his face to jelly, but I resist. For now. I try to stay on the right side of the law, and something tells me that Murray’s going to be suffering the consequences of his actions in multiple ways.
Murray crawls away from us, crab-style. Rocco tries to run after him, but I catch him and spin him around. In the distance, sirens wail. I guess one of the neighbors called the cops.
“Leave it!” I shout at Rocco as he struggles in my arms. “Murray will never make another sale in this town. People will cross the street to avoid him. Your family needs you, and he’s not worth going to prison for. We’ve made our point.”
“You’d better hope you don’t run into me in a dark alley!” Rocco shouts after Murray. “If you’d killed Sienna, they’d be fishing pieces of Murray out of the river for weeks!”
I let go of him, and he storms off to the front of the house. Cesare and I follow him, to find that Brandon’s kicked in all the windows of the Porsche and now he’s dragging a pen knife through the paint on the hood.
“I really like this guy,” Cesare says.
***
Sienna
“Well, hello, jailbirds,” I call out as Donovan, Cesare, Brandon and Rocco stride through the door of the closing agent’s office.
After they were all arrested yesterday, I was afraid that they might not make it to the closing in time. Angus had them bailed out first thing this morning.
They’re all rumpled and unshaven. They didn’t even have time to go home and shower.
“Really, Brandon.” April shakes her head in disapproval, but she can’t hide a little smile.
“Sorry, Mom. Won’t happen again. Probably,” he says, sitting next to her. His father Phillip gives him an approving wink.
Sheriff Shaughnessy’s come to keep the peace, and he stands across the room with one of his deputies, watching us through narrowed eyes. A pale, wretched Murray, who looks like he just crawled out of a coffin, is sitting at the far end of the table with several attorneys, a notary public, a secretary, and a closing agent.
“They shouldn’t even be here!” he complains loudly to Sheriff Shaughnessy. “They came to my house and terrorized me!”
“I know that,” the sheriff says with a sigh of exasperation. “I was there, remember? Nothing is going to happen while I’m here. You can go request a restraining order if you like.”
“Damn right I will.” Murray huffs and readjusts his tie.
“Hello, lovely. You’ve got a thing for bad boys, right?” Donovan winks at me and settles down in the chair next to me. Cesare and Rocco sit down with my family, and the Witlockes wave at them in greeting. Donovan leans over and whispers in my ear. “We can play convict and prison guard later if you want.”
“For the last time!” Sara cries out. “We. Have. Ears.” She claps her hands over her ears to protect the offended organs.
“Really, Sienna.” Fernanda shoots me a severe look. “Bad enough that you are married to one of them, but to have to imagine that? Nuccio would be turning over in his grave.”
I glance at Donovan.
“Any sign of the buyers?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“How are you feeling, by the way?”
I shoot Murray a dirty look. “Sore. But fine. Could have been much worse.”
Donovan slings his muscular arm around my shoulders and shoots a death stare in Murray’s direction, then smiles at me. “I should hire a bodyguard for you.”
“No way,” I protest, at the same time that my uncle