Chapter 7 Sienna
Sienna
I stare at the order ticket in my hand, my stomach twisting into tight knots.
Six honey-glazed and three jelly-filled.
The exact order Benedikt warned me about.
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the small piece of paper as I glance toward the front of the bakery. The morning rush has died down, and Lucy is humming as she wipes down the counter, unaware that I’m spiraling.
I should just ignore it.
It’s a normal order for donuts, for God’s sake.
Except it isn’t anymore.
I let out a breath, shove the ticket in my apron pocket, and tell myself to get a grip.
Everything is fine; this is just a weird game he’s playing with me.
My cell buzzes in my back pocket just then, and my stomach drops when I check the screen.
BENEDIKT: Is it done yet?
My pulse skips, my thumbs flying across the keyboard.
SIENNA: You tell me. YOU placed this order.
BENEDIKT: And what purpose would that serve, Miss Graves?
SIENNA: Again, you tell me. Are you bored at your million-dollar company, Mr. Volkov? Is this a fun thing for you to brag to your rich friends about? Harassing and scaring young women for shits and giggles?
BENEDIKT: I can assure you that this isn’t a game.
SIENNA: Stop texting me. Don’t contact this bakery or me again, or I’ll call the police.
BENEDIKT: You don’t need to. The detective is already outside, remember?
My eyes fly toward the windows that look out onto the street. Was the blue Chevy Trax there before? Is there someone with binoculars looking in?
SIENNA: Leave me alone, or I will file a restraining order.
I can’t help but picture him relaxing behind his desk right now while I’m standing here, losing my mind over donuts.
Removing myself from the front of the bakery, I enter the kitchen to get out of sight for a moment.
Inhaling, I do my best to calm my nerves, trying everything in my power to slow my racing heart.
The back door opens to announce one of our daily deliveries, and I welcome the distraction of unloading and organizing when Benedikt Volkov enters the room.
If I wasn’t freaking out before, I am now.
I clutch the edge of one of the stainless-steel tables as he strolls inside.
Even in the kitchen with no one else around to see, the man has a presence that demands attention. Today, the deep-blue tie at his throat is the only color he allows, the shade mirroring his sharp, observant eyes as they flick over me, pinning me in place.
He’s a walking contradiction—refined and polished, yet dangerous in a way that most people wouldn’t catch unless they were paying attention.
I freeze.
Benedikt stops in front of the table I’m holding onto and tilts his head. “You look stressed.”
“You think?”
He gestures to my pocket. “Do you have it?”
My fingers tighten around the order slip still in my palm. “If I say no, are you going to call in one of your mafia guys to shake me down for it?”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Graves.”
I pull out the ticket and slap it onto the counter, but I don’t flip it over. “There. Happy?” He doesn’t glance at it. “Now, get out.”
He leans in instead, dropping his voice low. “This isn’t a negotiation, Sienna.”
“For what?”
“For you working for me.”
My brows slam together. “I don’t work for you. Nor did I ever agree to work with you.”
He straightens his spine. “You might want to rethink that.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Then think of your grandmother, Sienna. Her rent is overdue.”
Ice floods my veins, and my breath catches.
“You’ve been covering the difference. The cost has gone up over the past five years, but she doesn’t know. You feel guilty that she doesn’t stay with you, but she won’t hear it.”
I stare at him, my throat tight.
I’ve never told anyone that.
He continues in a smooth, deliberate tone. “I can make sure she never has to worry about a thing. That you never have to worry about a thing.”
I shake my head. “No… thank you.”
Benedikt exhales, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Sienna, you’re already in this. Make it easy for yourself.”
“I didn’t do anything.” My voice is more desperate than I want it to be. “I work at a bakery. That’s it.”
He watches me for a long moment before speaking again. “Maybe so. But that’s changed now.”
I can’t take any more of this.
“Please, just leave,” I beg. “I don’t want to see you again.”
“That’s not possible, Miss Graves. Your father owed me more than he could ever pay back. And when he ran out of options, he gave me you.”
My pulse thunders in my ears, and everything inside me pulls to a dead stop.
Who is this man?
I haven’t spoken to my father in three years. Once in a great while, he’ll reach out to me, but he’s never given a damn. My mother died when I was six, and my father replaced her with nannies and girlfriends. My older brother, Stephen, was always his favorite. My father didn’t bother to hide that.
When I rebelled against my father’s treatment, he shipped me off to my mother’s mom, my grandmother. She’s raised me since I was thirteen.
My relationship with my father has never been good. I knew he was doing things he shouldn’t be. One day, he’d have an expensive car; a few months later, it was getting towed.
Grandma never divulged or put any ideas in my head about what my father was doing. It wasn’t hard to see that he had a drinking problem and a gambling one, too.
Especially after Stephen died two years ago in a car accident.
“I’m not…” I swallow the lump in my throat and glower at him, “someone who can be bought, Mr. Volkov. You have some balls to say that to me in public.”
“Your father thought otherwise.”
I feel sick. “You can’t make me do anything.”
“Sienna, I don’t need your cooperation. I already have you.”
He studies me for another moment, then straightens his jacket like this is just business. “Here’s how this is going to work.”
I stiffen. “It won’t.”
“You will keep working here,” he continues. “You will pay attention to the orders, the names, and the pickups. You will make sure I know everything that moves in and out of this place.”
I grit my teeth. “And if I don’t?”
The smile that graces his lips doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll have to make things… difficult.”
I stare at him as blood roars in my ears. “Who are you?”
“Your date to my brother’s welcome home dinner. You’ll be well compensated. Your grandmother’s rent will be covered. She’ll be taken care of. You’ll be protected.”
“From what?”
“Felony charges, Miss Graves, for one. Two, from someone noticing that Detective Campbell is camped out in front of your bakery. He’s not very good. I wouldn’t want someone to believe you’re in on what’s been happening here.”
I shake my head slowly. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m just giving you facts, Miss—”
“Stop threatening me and leave. Now.”
“I never answered your question,” he replies simply.
“I don’t care.”
He moves around the table, and I back away slowly.
“You think I’m going to hurt you in broad daylight? Your friend is out front.”
“I don’t know what you’re capable of, but my impression of you is shot, Mr. Volkov. Find a new bakery. Go harass someone else. This is the last time you and I will be in the same room.”
“I’m afraid that’s no longer possible, but I promise to never hurt you unless you betray me. Then, it’ll—”
“Who are you to do anything to me?” I spit out. “I don’t like you. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I want out.”
“I’m not trying to date you, Miss Graves.”
“Thank God.”
Benedikt smiles. “My name is Benedikt Volkov, and I’m head of the Volkov Bratva. I’m the mob, Sienna. And now that you know my little secret, I’ll kill you if you run to the police under the pretense that I’m stalking you.
“And now that that’s out of the way, I’ll send Artem over sporadically to collect records of our orders and where they go. Meanwhile, I’ll handle your grandmother’s rent. Your debt will be paid in the next month if you comply with what I’m asking.”
“No.”
“Yes, Miss Graves. Like it or not, you’re mine.”