Chapter 16 Benedikt
Benedikt
I’ve been staring at the same line of numbers on my desk for twenty minutes. Doesn’t matter how many times I go through the books; my head keeps circling back to this morning.
Campbell.
Sienna’s bakery.
And those fucking cupcakes.
Arlo’s out tearing through the city, trying to track down Nikolai, and until I hear from him, I’m stuck here pacing holes into the rug.
I hate waiting.
Always have.
My empire doesn’t move on hesitation. I’ve bled for this chair, clawed my way past men twice my age, outsmarted rivals who thought they’d eat me alive.
And now?
Now I’ve got some city detective sniffing around the one woman I can’t afford anyone touching.
I rub the back of my neck, my jaw tight, and force myself to sit down.
Sienna’s name keeps rolling through my head, sour and sweet all at once. I can’t figure out if she’s going to be the death of me or the reason I survive the storm. Maybe both.
The soft knock on the office door pulls me out of it.
I look up and she’s there.
Small frame, loose sweater, hair tied back like she doesn’t want to be noticed, but can’t help drawing every ounce of attention out of me anyway.
Her hand lingers on the doorframe, like she’s not sure she’s welcome.
She’s everything but.
“Come in,” I say, leaning back in my chair. My voice comes out lower than I intend, but hell, she makes me feel that way—rough, dangerous, and fucking unsteady.
She steps inside carefully, shutting the door behind her. Doesn’t meet my eyes right away.
That tells me she’s nervous or curious, and I want nothing more than it to be neither.
“What is it?” I ask, watching her.
“I thought… maybe we could talk,” she says softly.
That makes me sit straighter.
She’s the one who wanted open communication, wasn’t she? The one who accused me of treating her like a pawn.
Now she’s standing here asking for exactly what she fought me on.
I motion to the chair across from me. “Good. Because I’ve got things to say.”
Her eyebrows twitch, like she’s already regretting this. She sits down anyway, folding her hands in her lap.
I notice the way she keeps her knees pressed together, how her shoulders curve slightly inward.
Guard up.
But she came to me. That’s something.
“I know you’ve got deliveries to make for your…actual job,” I start, keeping my tone even. “But if any of those deliveries are going to a government office—mayor, police, anything like that—I want one of my men with you.”
Her head snaps up. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” I fire back, sharper than I mean.
Her eyes narrow. “That’s not a reason.”
I exhale slowly, forcing down the urge to bark at her. She deserves the truth.
Doesn’t mean she’s going to like it.
I lean forward, elbows on the desk, locking her in with my gaze. “This morning, I found Detective Miller Campbell loitering around your new bakery. He shouldn’t know it’s yours. Hell, nobody should, not yet. But there he was, sniffing around like a hungry dog—it can’t happen, Sienna.”
Her lips part, surprise flashing across her face. “He… what? Why?”
“Because men like him are obsessed with getting their hooks into me. They’ll use anyone close to me to do it. Including you.”
She swallows hard. I see the shift in her expression. The realization that she’s not just playing a game with me anymore. She’s already in the crossfire.
“That’s not all,” I continue. “Arlo tells me you’ve got a delivery scheduled for Mayor Wilson’s office. Red velvet cupcakes.”
Her brows knit. “So?”
“So, red velvet’s a code. Been that way for years in this city. It means blood. It means somebody’s marked for death.”
Her mouth falls open slightly, then snaps shut.
She shakes her head. “That’s…that’s ridiculous. They’re just cupcakes, Ben.”
“Not in this business, they’re not.” I lean back, running a hand through my hair. “Mayor Wilson doesn’t make moves without me. Not anymore. If he’s sending signals, either he’s lost his mind or someone’s pulling his strings. And I’d bet my life that someone is Nikolai.”
Her eyes widen at the name. She doesn’t know the half of it, but she feels the weight when I say it.
I take a breath, my voice dropping lower, more controlled. “I need you to understand something. You are in this now. Whether you like it or not. Which means you follow my lead, you take a man with you, and you don’t argue.”
She bristles immediately, shoulders squaring while her chin lifts. “So that’s it? I just roll over and let you bark orders at me?”
Christ, she tests me in ways no one else dares.
I close my eyes briefly, then open them and fix her with the truth. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you alive.”
My voice cracks slightly on the last word, and I hate that she can hear it.
Hate that she makes me feel.
She falters, just for a split second. Her mouth opens like she’s ready to argue again, but then she shuts it, lips pressing tightly together.
“I don’t like being told what to do,” she mutters finally.
“I know. But I need you to do it anyway. For me.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded. Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like the air shifts. That tight string pulling me toward her gets stronger, pulling us both into dangerous territory.
She lets out a long breath, shoulders dropping. “Fine. I’ll take one of your men.”
Relief loosens my chest, though I keep my face still.
“Good,” I murmur. “That’s all I ask.”
For a second, we just sit there, staring at each other across the desk. My control slips a little as I take in the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips press together like she’s holding back more words.
She’s beautiful.
Infuriating, but beautiful.
And mine.
I shift in my chair, trying to ground myself, but I can’t stop watching her. The timid way she walked in here is gone. Now she looks…present.
Awake.
Like she’s starting to realize what being near me really means.
“You did the right thing coming here,” I say finally, voice low. “You wanted communication. This is it. Ugly, messy, and necessary. You don’t have to like me, Sienna. But you’re going to have to trust me.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a long moment before she slowly nods, “I’ll try.”
That’s all I get. That’s all I need.
For now.
Slowly, I push back my chair and stand, moving around the desk before I can second-guess it. She watches me, steady, no flinching or fear in those intoxicating gold eyes.
I stop beside her chair, close enough to catch the faint sweetness of her shampoo, something warm and clean that crawls under my skin and makes me want more than she’s willing to give.
That she’s going to have to give.
Her head tips slightly, like she’s waiting for me to say something else. Instead, I reach down, catching a strand of her hair between my fingers. Soft. Silky. It slides free too easily, and I want to fist it, hold it, and keep her here.
“You make it hard to stay in control,” I murmur, my voice low off more admission than threat.
My hand drifts, brushing the side of her face before my knuckles tilt her chin up, just enough to make her look at me.
“But…you know you’re going to have to see me, Sienna. You’re going to have to get pregnant.”
Now she looks terrified.
Her cheeks pinken, eyes glossed in trepidation and hopelessness. She doesn’t want me, but I can’t help but want her in every way possible.
“Or we can pretend…you lost the baby until you’re ready.”
I feel her heavy exhale brush along my hand when she says, “How?”
“You fell. Or…you just miscarried.”
“Wouldn’t that…mess things up?”
They would.
However, I’m not going to rape and force her to have my child. When I do fuck her again…she’s going to beg me for it.
“I’ll worry about the aftermath,” I emit evenly. “My father’s doctor has already been bought. The rest is in our hands.”
“And you trust him?”
A mirthless chuckle rumbles from my throat. “My money bought him, princess. I’m much scarier than my father.”
She doesn’t look to believe me and, honestly, I’d like to keep it that way. There’s no need for my future wife to see what kind of villain she’s marrying.
I let my thumb ghost over her jaw. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you? You’re making me soft.”
Her throat makes a tiny sound—half-laugh, half-breath—and for a second, the office feels too small. I can taste the irony of it: the man who built a life on being hard, softened by a girl who smells like flour and lavender.
“I—” She swallows, steadying herself. “I wanted to ask you something else.”
And here it goes.
Dropping my touch on her jaw, I ready myself for a fight or her royally pissing me off. “What is it?”
“I made a few new recipes last night. Lucy helped. I—” Her voice tightens for a second. “Would you…taste them? Tell me what you think?”
It’s so small—stupidly small. A ridiculous, domestic ask. It’s like she’s offering me a loaf of bread and asking me to hold it like we’re not bartering for lives.
I don’t like sweets.
But I like her.
“That sounds like a big deal.”
Sienna shrugs. “You’re honest. And, if this is going to work, I need that.”
Geezus.
She’s handing me a vote of confidence like it’s a weapon or a lifeline. Either way, I don’t want it, and I do.
“Whatever you need, princess. What time do you need me?”
“Whenever…seven?”
My thumb brushes her cheek once more, unnecessary and selfish, then across the corner of her soft lips before I let my hand drop. “Whenever or seven?”
Her gaze falls to my lips, and my cock stirs traitorously in my slacks. “Seven…if that works.”
“I’ll be there.” Her focus comes up to me, breaking whatever temporary spell she had on my mouth when I add, “No solo deliveries to government offices without a man.”
“I got it.”
“If anything looks off at all, if someone’s watching you, if deliveries don’t go where they should, you come straight here. Not to your grandmother, not to Lucy. Here.”
“I said I got it. I’ll play the pawn.”
I want to tell her a hundred things. That she’s not, that she already is, that I’ll never let anyone hurt her, then immediately add the list of ways I’ll use her to secure my world.
The truth is dirty and complicated. I have no intention of polishing it for her.
Instead, I say, “You’re not a pawn.” My voice is softer than it should be, and I almost hate that she hears it. “You’re a choice I made.”
She studies me for a fraction of a second. The kind of look that feels like a question and an indictment at once, and then like a small, stubborn flag, she gathers her things.
“Tomorrow,” she reminds.
“Tomorrow.”
She rises from the chair and turns to leave, but I reach out before she’s completely clear of the room. My hand finds the back of her neck in a touch that’s mine and possessive and not meant to be sweet.
“Behave,” I say, but there’s no real threat behind it today.
Just a promise.
Or a plea.
She only gives me that look—equal parts disdain, like she can’t stand my ass, and something like amusement that I’m being completely overprotective here—and then she walks out.
The door clicks, and my office is suddenly too quiet. I let out a long, slow breath and return to the thing I do best—plan, wait, and ensure nothing and no one undoes what I’ve built.
Arlo will call about Nikolai soon. The city will keep spinning. The bakery will have everything Sienna wants and needs, and somewhere in the middle of it, I’ll taste sugar for the first time in years—for her—and decide if this thing we’ve negotiated is worth letting everything else burn.