The Sister Who Shot Me Got Everything I Had Chapter 06
The Signature
Luca’s POV
We didn’t get back until four in the morning.
Mrs. Falcone, the Donna, walked in the room first. “Where’s Sienna?”
The housekeeper wouldn’t meet her eyes. Just said the lights in Sienna’s room had been off for two hours.
The Donna’s mouth twisted. “Again with the tantrums.”
Matteo tried to call her. The line clicked twice.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
His face changed.
The Donna’s phone rang.
An unfamiliar voice on speaker. “Don. I’m calling on behalf of Miss Sienna Falcone. I’m her lawyer, and from today on, I will be speaking for her in all matters concerning her family—yourself and the Donna included.”
“Should you have any questions regarding her absence from future family events, feel free to contact me, and I will relay them to her.”
“She has also signed a severance agreement stating that she will no longer be participating in any Falcone business. Please check your printer—I’m sending it through now for your countersignature.”
The parlor went dead silent.
My head snapped up before I could stop it.
“Where did she go?”
The lawyer paused. Her voice dropped a full degree cooler. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that.”
“I’m her fiancé!” I couldn’t help but shout.
“Mr. Romano—if you were really her fiancé, wouldn’t you already know where she was going?”
I couldn’t breathe.
The line went dead.
The Donna’s fingers went white on the phone. “What is she doing now?”
“A girl. Alone. In the middle of the night. Where does she think she can go?” She dropped the phone and ran for the stairs.
I followed her. Don Falcone was two steps behind me.
The door to Sienna’s room opened easily.
Half the closet was empty. The desk was cleared.
Everything to do with her document, her medical records, her legal file—gone.
The old hearing chip Don Falcone gave her sat centered on a piece of white paper on the pillow.
Under it, three photocopies.
The original invoice. Four hundred and eighty thousand, paid in full. Seven years ago.
The cancellation form. Family funds redirected to overseas placement.
The disability assessment she’d pulled at the clinic. The corner of that page was rust-colored where a drop of blood had dried.
The Donna picked it up. Her hand started to shake.
Don Falcone read it over her shoulder. “What is she keeping this for?”
I snatched the cancellation form out of her hand before I knew my body had moved.
My eyes locked onto the signature line.
Surgery postponed indefinitely. Family acknowledges consequences of missing the reconstruction window.
The name in the co-signer’s box. Luca A. Romano.
I stopped breathing.
I remembered it now.
Seven years ago. Sienna was still in the hospital bed. The morphine wasn’t cutting through the pain. She couldn’t sleep for the burn running from her hip to her ankles.
The Donna had come to me crying, said Gia was suicidal, that she had to be sent to Sicily before the week was out. The Falcone didn’t have liquid cash to cover both moves.
Don Falcone said Sienna was already in the chair. Whether she got the second surgery this month or next year, she was still going to be in a chair.
I thought so too. So I signed my name.
I didn’t tell her.
Two nights later, I sat on the edge of her hospital bed and held her hand and said, “Sienna, baby. I’ll be your legs. Forever.”
Turns out one of the hands that took her legs were also mine.