Chapter 9 Benedikt
Benedikt
This place is tiny.
Too small for someone like me.
The ceiling fan wobbles overhead, creaking with every slow rotation. The furniture is a mess of thrift store finds and hand-me-downs.
It’s the kind of place where everything tells a story of having belonged to someone else.
The couch looks like it might give up if I sit on it, and the coffee table is propped up with a stack of books—some hardcover, some paperback, all worn at the edges.
There’s a small bookshelf against the wall, stuffed full of books with their spines cracked and bent from being read too many times. Some titles I recognize, some I don’t. She reads a lot.
In the corner, a desk is covered in papers—handwritten notes, sketches, receipts, and a laptop that looks a few years out of date. A half-full cup of coffee sits beside it, the ring of condensation staining the wood beneath it. The faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingers in the air.
It’s not just from the bakery.
It’s her.
It’s quiet. Just the fan, the distant hum of a car passing by outside, and the sound of water running from the bathroom.
She has no idea I’m here.
I step toward her desk, glancing over the notes sprawled across it. A business plan. A second location, projections, costs, and estimated profits—ambitious, but realistic.
Still, she’s naive if she thinks she’s turning a profit in her first year. It’s clear she’s already barely getting by.
Her bills are stacked neatly beside the laptop.
Rent. Utilities. Insurance.
The normal shit.
The water in the bathroom shuts off, and Sienna emerges from the shower.
I lean back against the far wall and wait. She’s going to freak out. She’s going to loathe that I’m here. However, if Detective Campbell is trying to involve her, that ends now.
The bathroom door creaks open, and she steps out, her damp hair clinging to her creamy shoulders, wrapped in nothing but a towel that barely covers her ass.
She hasn’t seen me yet and, for that, I’m glad.
Because I aimlessly eye-fuck her and all the curves outlined by the white towel blocking my view.
Her skin’s flushed from the hot water, glowing faintly pink in the places the towel doesn't touch—her collarbone, her shoulders, the top of her chest. Her hair is darker and wet, with long strands sticking to the sides of her neck and the curve of her spine.She’s soft in a way most women I know work hard to carve out of themselves.
No sharp bones or cold edges, just smooth skin and gentle lines.
Honest.
Unpolished.
The way she moves isn’t practiced. It’s just real.
And sexy as fuck.
Sienna is gorgeous. If I were any other man, I’d say she’s even worthy of courting and spending some time to get to know her beyond a background check.
But trust and the lack of it always play to the forefront of my brain.
I might be able to give a summary of Sienna, but nowhere on paper did it say how trustworthy she is. Or, if thrown in a difficult situation, if she would rat.
Sienna reaches her dresser, one hand still gripping the towel, and that’s when she notices me.
Her breath catches mid-step.
She freezes.
I watch as her spine stiffens, her shoulders pull back, and then a flash of anger illuminates her face.
Perfect.
“What the hell?” she snaps, stepping back like she’s about to run. “You’re in my bedroom.”
“I am.”
Her nostrils flare. “You broke in.”
“You should lock your windows.”
“You do realize I live on the third floor?”
My lips curl slightly. “I used the door.”
Her eyes widen, her hands begin to shake, and my smirk fades. She’s trying to keep it together, but I see the mix of anger, fear, and adrenaline coursing through her.
I take my time looking at her. Not just because she’s standing there barely dressed, but because I can.
She’s beautiful. Not in the polished, made-up way most women in my world are. There’s something raw about her. The soft curves, smooth skin, and fire in her eyes tell me she’s not going to make this easy.
I like that.
“You’re coming with me tonight,” I tell her. “It’s not safe for you here.”
She snorts and rips her top dresser drawer open. “Get out, Mr. Volkov. I’ve had enough games for today.”
“I wasn’t asking, Sienna.”
“It’s Miss Graves to you.” She throws a white tee over one shoulder and searches for something else. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I told you what was happening. You saw it for yourself tonight.”
Sienna twirls on me, a glower pointed in my direction. “I saw that I shouldn’t get involved with you because he’s taken a very special interest in you coming to the bakery today. If anything, you made it worse.”
“I’m the least of your worries right now.”
She snorts. “Tell that to my so-called debt and the fact that you think I belong to you.”
You do.
And I’m definitely going to collect.
“Sienna, I’m not trying to make this difficult for you. I will make you as comfortable as possible while—”
“Did you not hear me when I said I would call the cops?”
“You never mentioned that.”
She retrieves pink panties and throws those over her shoulder, too, then spins on her heels to look at me.
I stare at the lacy material that she casually swung out on display. The barely-there material has me imagining what her ass and thighs look like in them.
“You’ve got two minutes to get out of my apartment, Mr. Volkov, before I call the cops. Got it?”
I don’t move an inch.
I probably should.
But logic went out the window the second I stepped into this place and got a real look at her, all wet hair, flushed skin, and throwing lace like a weapon.
I’ve handled arms deals smoother than this conversation, and yet here I am, frozen and staring like an idiot while she glares at me.
“I heard you.” I finally return my focus to her face. “But I’m guessing you wouldn’t make it far in your towel to your phone.”
She opens her mouth, ready to spit fire, then pauses and glances at her nightstand.
Empty.
I took the phone, and she’s smart as hell.
Sienna doesn’t ask where it is. She knows, which earns me an even harder glare.
“What do you want?” she snaps. “If it’s not cupcakes, I’m really not in the mood.”
It’s a fair question.
However, I’m not in the mindset of showing all my cards.
Not that she wouldn’t run screaming if she knew my plan.
I barely want to acknowledge that I need this woman, but I do.
And I’m going to have her.
She’s the only thing that comes close to getting me the leverage I need on local politicians to keep the heat off me.
“Come with me tonight.” My voice is steady, even if everything else in me is not. “I will put you up and protect you.”
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“Oh, no. I heard you.” She’s exasperated now. “I’m just trying to decide how many different ways I can say no.”
My temper ticks just a bit at her dismissal. “Let me rephrase. This is not a request, Sienna.”
“That’s even worse.” She crosses her arms and looks at me like I’ve just asked her to marry me, which is ironic because I’m going to, eventually.
But not now.
Now’s not the time. Not when she’s one wrong word away from throwing something significantly harder than a pillow.
“Out, Mr. Volkov. Last warning.”
I feel a shift in the air around us, something sharp in the way she stands. I can see the fight-or-flight instinct flickering behind her eyes. She’s deciding if she could take me if she makes a move toward her bedroom door.
I almost want her to.
The idea of her making the first move, forcing me to put my hands on her, makes my blood run hot and my palms itch to touch her silky skin.
She is beautiful, smart, and completely out of her depth. Still, I like how she fights me.
Even if she’s not doing what I want her to do.
I take a step forward. The distance between us shrinks, and I know it’s only making things more intense, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“You can kick me out, Sienna, but it won’t change anything.” My voice softens a fraction. “Politicians are not just here to serve the people. The bakery you work at is a fuckin’ hidden operation under your nose.”
She opens her mouth, ready to throw out some righteous, wide-eyed defense of truth and justice, but I cut her off.
“Play my game, you’re safe. Reject me, and not only are you putting yourself at risk for felony charges, but you’re risking everyone around you, too.”
She pauses, and I see a tiny crack in her armor.
I step closer.
“Your grandmother?” I keep my tone level, but I see the way her fingers tighten around the towel like it’s all she’s got left to hold herself together.
“She’ll be out on the street. No one’s going to cover her rent when the bank comes knocking.
Your dad hasn’t paid a dime toward her care.
You can’t help much when you’re rotting in a cell with decades hanging over your head. ”
Sienna's jaw tenses. Her voice comes out low and clipped. “I’m not guilty.”
God, she’s stubborn.
It makes me want to drag my hands through my hair and pace the room.
But I won’t give her that power.
“Pigs don’t care if you’re guilty,” I say instead. “They’ll take down whoever makes the headlines. You’re just a means to an end. Nothing to them.”
She shakes her head slowly and stubbornly. “No. It’s called justice. We have that in the real world.”
I huff out a breath and step forward again. “That’s cute. You think this is the real world?”
She’s glaring at me now, and her chest is rising a little faster. I don't know if it's anger, or nerves, or a slow realization that the world she thought she knew just got flipped upside-down, but I know what I see.
Heat.
Flickering behind her eyes.
She takes a step back without meaning to and bumps into her dresser. She’s still gripping the towel like it’s armor, even though it barely covers the top half of her thighs. Her skin’s still damp, and I catch the faint scent of soap and something warm. Vanilla, maybe.
Sweet and too tempting.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she mutters, shifting her weight.
I cock my head innocently. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided something,” she snaps, but her voice isn’t steady anymore. Her fingers curl tighter at the edge of the towel.
I take another step toward her. One more, and we’ll be chest to chest. “Maybe I have.”
Sienna swallows and blushes. “You said this wasn’t about me.”
“It’s not. But you’re standing there in a towel, looking at me like you’re waiting for a reason to run or rip my head off, and it’s hard to remember what I was talking about.”
There’s a moment where neither of us says anything. I could touch her. God, I could. One hand on her waist, and she’d either shove me into the wall or pull me closer.
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “So, what? You want me to just play house with you, look pretty at a dinner, and then what? Go back to my life like nothing happened?”
“Eventually.”
She looks down, then back up. The weight of it settles on her shoulders, but she’s still got fire. She’s still glaring, trying to hold on to some version of her life that no longer exists.
Sienna needs a push.
I didn’t want to pull the aggressive notes into this conversation, but she won’t budge.
She’s going to fight me.
“It also keeps your father alive,” I continue, and her light brown eyes widen. “You refuse to come with me, I’ll need to settle the debt another way.”
She flinches, and I’d feel bad if this wasn’t the way shit goes. However, her father owes me fifty grand with zero means to get it back.
I’m going to get paid one way or another.
“How?” she asks. “He… you can’t collect money from him if he’s dead.”
“Now you’re worried about how I’m going to be paid? Are you giving me the green light, Sienna?” Her lips part, then close. “He wasn’t much of a father, was he? He gave you up easily enough.”
Her expression hardens. “That’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not,” I shrug dismissively, “but I can promise you that you’d be safer with me than you ever were with him.”
She takes a step back. “I don’t want to go with you,” she whispers, then adds with some grit, “I don’t know you.”
“I’m your best bet.”
“I don’t know that. You’re threatening me.”
“I’m promising you.”
“No, you’re promising to kill my father if I don’t go with you.”
This will take longer.
She thinks for a minute before continuing. “Why do you need me with you? I’m not involved with these men. There isn’t anything I have—”
“I need a fake fiancée, and you need a debt paid and protection.” I straighten my spine, uneasy. “I can handle your grandmother’s lodging and your bills. All you have to do is attend a dinner with me and pretend—”
“Your fiancée?!”
Shit.
She stares at me in disbelief for a moment, then turns and sprints back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
A second later—click.
She locked the door.
Real smooth, Volkov.