THE GROVE

Sienna Russo hadn’t smelled this land in twenty years — but the second she stepped out of the rental car, it hit her.

Hot stone. Wild rosemary. Dust. And olives.

The grove stretched across the hillside like a living thing, overgrown and stubborn. Her grandfather’s land. Now hers, apparently — thanks to a handwritten will delivered via a lawyer who looked deeply uncomfortable explaining Italian inheritance laws in a Manhattan cafe.

Sienna didn’t care about the legal details. She cared that it was hers. A chance to escape New York, the wreckage of her ex, and the restaurant that had drained her dry.

She closed her eyes and breathed it in. Silence. Sun. Space.

And then — an engine.

She turned as a black SUV crunched into view from a dirt path beside the grove. Not a local car. New, expensive, and out of place.

Her brows furrowed. Maybe a neighbor? Someone curious about the return of the “American granddaughter”? The lawyer had warned her that small towns talked.

The vehicle stopped. The driver’s door opened.

The man who stepped out looked like he’d been carved out of shade and steel. Tailored black suit, unbuttoned at the collar. No smile. Sunglasses that hid everything but the angle of his jaw — sharp and unamused.

Definitely not a neighbor.

He said nothing as he approached. Just looked at her like she was a very specific kind of problem.

Sienna crossed her arms. “Can I help you?”

A pause.

Then, voice low and dry: “You’re standing on land that doesn’t belong to you.”

She blinked. “Pretty sure it does. Unless I hallucinated an inheritance and a ten-hour flight.”

The man didn’t laugh. Didn’t even flinch.

She tried again. “Look, if this is about boundaries or water access or whatever, I’m happy to talk. But I just got off the plane. I haven’t even been inside yet.”

He tilted his head. “You came alone?”

She hesitated. “Is that a problem?”

Another pause. His gaze lingered on her suitcase, then the crumbling house. “This isn’t a place for Americans playing farmer,” he said.

Sienna let out a dry laugh. “Relax, I’m not here to grow a vineyard and start a blog. I’m here to figure out what the hell my grandfather left me. That’s it.”

He stepped closer — not threatening, but the kind of presence that made you pay attention.

Finally, he pulled off his sunglasses.

His eyes were dark. Quiet. Dangerous.

Sienna blinked, looked him up and down, then smirked. “What’s with all the props? You planning on auditioning for The Godfather 5 or just trying to look mysterious?”

Luca’s lips twitched, almost a smile — but his eyes stayed unreadable.

“My name is Luca Moretti,” he said.

The name meant nothing to her.

She folded her arms. “Sienna Russo. Nice to meet you, Luca. And thanks for the drama. It really adds to the vibe.”

Luca stared for a moment, clearly thrown off by her humor — or maybe by how little she seemed to care.

“Your grandfather owed people,” he said, finally. “People who don’t forget.”

Sienna arched an eyebrow. “Well, I didn’t exactly inherit a ledger and a list of enemies along with the olive trees. You’ll have to be more specific.”

He looked past her toward the house — a sun-bleached stone structure with half a roof and more lizards than windows. “You planning to stay?”

“Depends. Is that a threat or just nosy small-town curiosity?”

Something flickered in his expression — not quite guilt, not quite amusement.

“I’m saying it’s not safe,” he said.

“Safe from what? Tetanus?”

His jaw ticked, just once. “You think this is a joke?”

“I think a stranger in a suit showed up five minutes after I arrived and started issuing cryptic warnings like we’re in a Netflix thriller. So yeah, forgive me if I’m not trembling.”

Luca took another step forward, the heat shimmering between them. Sienna refused to back up.

“This land,” he said, his voice lower now, “was part of something. Your grandfather kept it — but not everyone agreed with that choice.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes. “And you’re what? The welcoming committee for the local mafia?”

He didn’t answer.

She let out a breath, sharp and impatient. “Look, if you have a problem with me being here, I suggest you take it up with the Italian legal system. Because I’m not leaving.”

His eyes flicked to the suitcase again, then to her sandals, dusty now from the gravel. “You don’t look like someone prepared for a fight.”

“Try me.”

That finally earned a real reaction. Not a smile exactly, but a flash of something — respect? Intrigue? She couldn’t tell.

Luca turned, walking back to the SUV.

“Wait,” she called out. “Is this it? You show up, play the brooding villain, and then just drive off?”

He opened the car door but didn’t get in. “You’ll see more of me.”

“Terrific,” she muttered. “Can’t wait.”

He paused again, one hand on the door. “Check the cellar,” he said, without turning around.

Then he got in, started the engine, and disappeared down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.

Sienna stood there, heart kicking in her chest, unsure if it was nerves or adrenaline or just jet lag catching up to her.

She turned to look at the house.

Check the cellar.

“Of course there’s a cellar,” she said under her breath. “Of course.”

And because she was too stubborn to be scared — or too tired to care — she picked up her suitcase and headed for the door.

AUTHOR AREA!! 🫒

SO.... I'm currently bored. That's why I've decided to write another one...and yeah that's all

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