Sienna's mother called in late May with a request that made Sienna's stomach drop before Diane Reed had even finished the first sentence.
"Your father wants to meet Alessandro," her mother said. "Properly. Now that things have… settled."
Sienna stared out the window of her apartment at the gray afternoon sky hanging low over Queens. Settled. That was one way to describe it, she supposed. The headlines had slowed. The financial channels had found fresher blood to circle. The worst of the public feeding frenzy had moved on, leaving behind wreckage instead of spectacle.
"Settled," Sienna repeated flatly.
Diane sighed softly, hearing the edge in her daughter's voice. "You know what I mean."
Yes. She knew exactly what her mother meant.
