Chapter 12 Benedikt
Benedikt
Nightclubs aren’t my thing.
Too loud. Too many bodies. Too much of everything.
But when you’re dealing with men who like theatrics, you meet them where they like to play.
Tonight, it’s a posh spot in downtown L.A. All polished marble and gold accents, velvet ropes, and bottle girls in skimpy dresses. The place screams wealth and crime, which is fitting.
The bass is a slow, thumping heartbeat through the floor.
Lights flash red and violet against sleek black walls.
I don’t need to look around to know that every pair of eyes in the place is clocking what’s going on.
That’s the nature of the beast. No one comes to these places without watching who walks in and out.
I’m settled in the roped-off VIP section at the back, a little elevated from the rest of the club.
It gives a better vantage point to see everyone and everything.
Artem is standing like a gargoyle to my left, his eyes doing their usual sweep, and my other guys are spread out at the entrance, the dance floor, and the bar.
Keeping an eye on her.
The black dress Artem picked out for her hugs every curve. Thin straps over her shoulders. Low-cut neckline. Short enough to make me grind my teeth when she shifts her weight from one heel to the other. Her hair’s down and loose around her shoulders.
She looks like sin on legs, and I flash back to just an hour ago in the penthouse, when she came around my fingers.
Sienna is perfection with a big mouth and plenty enough defiance to fill this club.
She’s nursing a drink at the bar and not talking to anyone or even smiling, but her presence still turns heads.
She’s drawing the kind of looks that make me want to smash someone’s face in.
The guy I’m waiting for is late, but that’s not a surprise. It’s part of the game. A power play. But I’ve already done my homework on him.
Angelo DeLuca.
Mid-forties.
Neat, clean, deliberate.
No flashy cars or public outbursts. Moves his product quietly and efficiently. No local heat on him, which is rare. Doesn’t take meetings often, which means if he shows up, he’s at least interested in what I’m selling.
That’s good.
What’s not good is the guy who’s talking to Sienna.
He’s in his mid-twenties and is dressed like he tried too hard. One of those guys who thinks a Gucci belt makes him a gangster.
I clock him sliding onto the stool next to her, leaning in with a smirk like he’s got something clever to say. She doesn’t look impressed, but she doesn’t move away.
I raise two fingers, subtle but sharp, and one of my guys intercepts. The punk barely has time to blink before Sienna’s being dragged toward me with her heels clicking against the floor, and her drink still in her hand.
She glares at me, but I don’t say anything. I just pat the seat next to me.
She flops down dramatically and crosses her legs.
“Was that necessary?” she snaps over the music. “I’m not even allowed to be by myself now?”
“If you want to stay at the bar, wear something ugly,” I mutter, still scanning the room.
“Your bodyguard picked this dress.”
“He has good taste.”
“This isn’t going to work, Benedikt,” she argues. “Less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already ready to scream from the alpha-male crap you keep throwing at me.”
Stealing a glance at her, she’s still wearing her heated glower.
“I am an alpha male, princess. And you’re my payment.
Consider it practice for when you meet my father.
You think I’m bad? Wait until he tells you you’re a piece of ass that’s going to give me children.
That you’re nothing but a body to fuck.” I turn my head back toward the crowd.
“At least I offered you whatever you liked.”
Sienna doesn’t respond, which works in my favor because Angelo has arrived.
He moves toward my table with ease, an entourage of men trailing in his wake. He’s shorter than I expected and built like an ox, wearing a charcoal suit and a button-up with no tie. Clean-shaven. No jewelry.
“Volkov,” he greets with a short nod as he steps into the section.
“DeLuca.” I rise just enough to offer a handshake.
He takes it firmly, then sits across from me, ignoring the bottle of vodka already waiting.
Respectable.
Doesn’t need to be pampered.
He glances once at Sienna before shifting his attention back to me.
“I hear you’ve got something that needs moving.”
“I do.” I match his cool tone. “High-grade. No serials. Coming in clean and tight. Not too flashy, not too messy. You’ll barely know it happened.”
“And you want to use my pipeline.”
“I want a trial run,” I clarify. “One shipment. See how it goes. If we both walk away satisfied, we will talk more. If not, we pretend this never happened.”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. “You do your homework?”
“On?”
“The woman at your side.” He steals another look at Sienna. “I don’t talk business with people I don’t know.”
Meaning she’s not in the game. She doesn’t belong at this table.
“End of next month?”
Angelo raises one eyebrow. He was expecting me to ask Sienna to leave the table.
No one tells me what to do or who can sit at my side. If I trust enough that she won’t blow me out of the water with the cops, she’ll sit wherever I want her to.
Not that I believe she wouldn’t, but she’d have a hell of a time doing it. It’s the least of my worries right now.
“We still need to talk more details,” Angelo presses, “and my time is limited tonight.”
I nod, flicking a glance toward Artem.
“Take her back to the penthouse,” I order.
Sienna’s mouth opens, but Artem’s already standing, and I can see her weighing her options. Cause a scene in front of the Italians, or deal with me later.
Sure, I made her come for not listening earlier. I don’t jack off guys who double-cross me and owe me money, so she’s an exception.
One I’ll need to handle carefully.
She chooses wisely, rising to her feet, heels clicking furiously as she stalks out of the VIP section with Artem close behind her.
Good.
Now I can focus.
Angelo watches the scene with a calm, unreadable expression, then leans forward slightly. “She gonna be a problem?”
“Not for you,” I answer easily. “She’s my issue.”
“Personal or professional?”
I give a dry chuckle. “Ask me again next week.”
He nods with a smirk. “Good luck with that, Volkov. Women are trouble, but the best kind.”
I’m not sold on that yet, but I let it slide.
We get into the specifics: locations, drop points, and personnel. Angelo wants a neutral zone somewhere quiet. He also wants his guy to inspect the shipment ahead of time.
I agree, because I don’t deal in shit, and I have nothing to hide. We set the date, the route, and the cargo details.
Every box checked.
Once we’re squared away, Angelo stands and smooths out the front of his suit. “I’ll be in touch before the end of the week. You’ll know where and when to expect my man.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You come with heat, the deal dies.”
“Same.”
He gives a small smile, one of those rare ones that means nothing and everything, then he disappears with his shadow trailing behind him.
I linger for a beat, watching the club pulse around me. The music’s louder now, or maybe I’m just more aware of it. Everything’s flashing, bodies are grinding, and the smell of perfume and sweat fills the air.
And all I want is a moment of quiet.
My night isn’t over.
I’m still trying to convince Sienna to pretend to be the perfect fiancée for me so I can take over my father’s business as head mob boss.
I can move guns all day with my eyes closed.
What I can’t do is make this woman stop fighting me every step of the way and driving me wild as she does.
—
Back at the penthouse, I ditch my jacket first. My shirt’s half unbuttoned as I toss my keys on the counter by the door before grabbing a glass from the minibar.
Artem is leaning against the far wall, idly scrolling his phone, like he didn’t just escort Hurricane Sienna through a minefield.
“She give you a hard time?” I ask.
He lifts his gaze and stares at me for a second. “She’s a pain in the ass.”
I snort, pouring two fingers of vodka. “I’m starting to notice that.”
“She doesn’t listen. She questions everything. She acts like a brat and has the nerve—Volkov, she’s a disaster.”
A beautiful one.
But still a disaster.
“Getting what I want always is, Artem. That won’t change.”
“How deep are you going with this?”
“Depends on the old man.”
His brows knit tightly. “You’re not going to actually marry this girl, are you?”
I shake my head, even though it would cement what my father is looking for. It’d be the smartest plan. A one-up over my brother.
It would also give my father an heir after me.
“Depends,” I say simply.
Artem scowls at me. “She’ll drive you insane.”
“I doubt it.”
“My job is to keep the ship from sinking. She’s going to make it sink.”
I shoot him a look. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He shoots me an exasperated look, then goes back to his phone.
Fair.
Setting my drink down, I head down the hall toward the bedroom, loosening my cuffs as I go. I’m still wired from the meeting with Angelo, but it’s not the business deal that’s got my blood pressure climbing.
It’s her.
We never spoke about the sleeping arrangement. I’m definitely not against lying in the same bed with her, even though I should keep a bit of distance between us.
I’ve been too busy thinking with my dick over the past several hours than business and my next moves.
I open the bedroom door, expecting to see her sulking in the corner or passed out in front of the TV with a scowl on her face.
Instead, the room’s still.
The bedside lamp is off. The robe she was wearing earlier is folded over the back of the chair. Her heels are gone. The edge of the bed is untouched.
I stare for a second, waiting for something to click into place.
It doesn’t.
I check the bathroom. Empty.
The closet door is cracked open, and her bag is missing. I open the drawer she claimed earlier.
Cleared out.
My blood turns to ice.
She left.
That fucking woman left.
I turn back to the room, hoping this is a joke. There’s no note. No passive-aggressive sign of her rebellion.
Just… nothing.
Cold air and the space where she should be.
“Artem,” I bark as I stalk into the hallway.
He looks up from his seat on the couch, instantly aware.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl.
He blinks. “What do you mean? She went straight into the room when we got up here.”
“Well, she’s not there now.”
That gets him to his feet.
He checks his phone as he paces toward the window like it’ll magically give him answers.
“If you don’t get your fucking ass downstairs to find her,” I growl, “I’m going to kill you myself.”
Artem freezes just long enough to make me want to put a fist through the wall. Then he moves, silently grabbing his jacket and keys from the counter.
I drag a hand down my face, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. The whole penthouse suddenly feels like it’s closing in, too quiet and too empty.
She had been in my hands just hours ago, breathless, soft, and pressed against the wall, begging for release. She had just let me touch her and unravel her.
She’d come apart for me.
And now she’s just… gone?
No fucking way.
I pace the hallway, fists clenching and unclenching, mind spinning through possibilities.
She wanted out, and then she slipped through my fingers like smoke.
No screaming. No tantrum.
She played me.
The corner of my mouth twitches. I can respect the move. Hell, I might even admire it.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll let it stand.
There’s one thing Sienna doesn’t seem to understand.
No one walks away from me.
Not without consequences.
And especially not her.