Chapter Sienna
Sienna
The kiss consumes me.
A blaze that scorches away the remnants of fear and replaces them with a reckless heat I want to burn in.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer as if he is the only solid thing in this spinning room.
But reality crashes back in with the sticky warmth of blood cooling on my skin and the sickeningly metallic scent clinging to everything.
I break away first, my breath ragged, my eyes flicking to Andrey's lifeless form sprawled on the carpet like discarded trash. Daniil follows my gaze, his expression shifting from raw desire to cold calculation. I see the killer in him emerge, efficient and unfeeling.
"We can’t stay here," he mutters against my lips, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.
"They’ll come looking soon. I will handle the mess.
You clean up." He nods toward the bathroom door, his hand lingering on my waist before he releases me, and I nod back, my mind racing to catch up with the plan forming between us without words.
I step away from him. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet now marred with dark stains, and I head toward the corner where my suitcase sits.
It was delivered earlier during the wedding chaos by some faceless attendant.
It’s packed with the essentials my father insisted on.
Clothes for the honeymoon I never wanted, toiletries to maintain the facade of a blushing bride.
I unzip it with trembling fingers, pulling out a fresh set of underwear, a simple black dress that hugs my curves, and my makeup bag filled with creams and scents that feel absurdly normal in this nightmare.
Daniil watches me for a moment, his gray eyes intense, then turns to the door, cracking it open just enough to peer out.
The hallway is silent, the guards' bodies slumped where he left them. He moves with predatory grace, dragging the first one inside by the arms, the limp form thumping softly against the threshold. I don’t watch; instead, I slip into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, though I know it’s more for my own illusion of control than for any real barrier.
I’m trembling as I step under the shower’s scalding spray, the steam curling around me, thick enough to suffocate.
The water hits my skin, stinging hot, and I let it burn away the blood, the fear, the weight of Andrey’s lifeless eyes staring up at me from the carpet.
My wedding dress lies crumpled on the floor, a ghost of white lace now streaked with red.
I don’t look at it as I scrub my body raw with the lavender soap from my toiletry kit.
The scent is too soft, too delicate for the violence I’ve just committed, but I cling to its normalcy, lathering my brown hair until the suds swirl clean down the drain.
Pink rivulets spiral away, carrying the last of Andrey from my body.
But the memory of my knife slicing through his throat hums in my veins, a dark melody that won’t quiet.
Out there, Daniil’s moving around with a quiet efficiency that makes my pulse stutter. He’s a shadow, a predator, and I’m caught in his orbit, my heart pounding with a mix of primal desire and something more feral I don’t know how to name.
I rinse off, my fingers brushing the raw skin where Andrey’s blood dried, and I catch my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. My eyes are too wide, too alive, not the docile bride I was supposed to be. I dry off quickly, wrapping a towel around myself, and dress in the items I plucked from my case.
The black dress is simple, sleek, something I can move easily in.
I slip it on, my damp hair leaving dark patches on the fabric.
My makeup bag’s next, but I skip the powders and gloss, grabbing only a comb to tame my tangled hair, which I twist up and hold into place with a simple black clip.
I’m not preening for anyone, not anymore.
The click of the bathroom lock snaps open and I step back into the suite, my bare feet silent on the blood-stained carpet.
Daniil’s there, three filled body bags now stacked against the wall like discarded props.
He’s wiping his hands on a towel he must’ve found behind the bar, his dark suit still looks pristine despite the carnage.
His gray eyes flick to me, and I feel them like a touch, tracing the lines of my body in the black dress, lingering on the damp strands of hair framing my face.
“You’re ready,” he says, voice low, rough, like he’s tasting the words. “We’d better move. My clean up guy is on the way, but they'll notice the guards missing soon.” He tosses the towel aside, stepping over Andrey’s corpse without a glance, and grabs my suitcase.
My heart’s hammering, but I nod, my throat tight with the realization that I’m tying my fate to this stranger, this killer who looks at me like I’m both his salvation and his ruin.
We slip out of the suite, the hallway eerily quiet, the gold leaf on the door glinting like a mocking farewell.
Daniil moves like he owns the shadows, guiding me toward a service elevator at the far end, his hand firm on the small of my back.
The heat of his touch burns through my dress, and I fight the urge to lean into it, to let his strength anchor me.
The elevator’s dingy, all scuffed metal and flickering lights, a stark contrast to the hotel’s gaudy luxury.
He punches a button, and we descend, the silence between us thick with unspoken questions.
I clutch the strap of my small purse, the one thing I grabbed besides the suitcase, my fingers brushing the outline of my phone inside.
I could call my cousins, beg for their protection, but the thought sours in my gut.
The elevator opens to a dimly lit corridor, the doors at the far end open to what looks like a back alley.
The air is sharp with the stink of garbage and exhaust fumes.
Daniil’s car waits, a sleek black thing that looks built for speed, not comfort.
He tosses my suitcase in the trunk and opens the passenger door, his eyes scanning the shadows like he’s expecting trouble.
I slide in, the leather cool against my thighs, and he’s behind the wheel in seconds, the engine purring to life.
We peel out, the city lights blurring past as he weaves through streets I don’t recognize, his hands steady on the wheel, knuckles white.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice softer than I want, betraying the nerves clawing at my chest.
He glances at me, that feral grin flashing in the dark. “My place,” he says. “You’ll be safe there, Sienna. For now, at least.”
The drive’s a blur, my mind spinning with the weight of what I’ve done, what I’m doing.
We pull into an underground garage, the gate sliding shut behind us with a heavy clang that feels like a door closing on my old life.
Daniil grabs my suitcase again, leading me to a private elevator that hums us upward, the numbers climbing too fast.
When the doors open, I’m hit with a wave of modern luxury, all dark wood and clean lines.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city like a painting.
His penthouse smells of pine and something faintly spicy, like him, and I’m suddenly aware of how small I feel in this vast space. How exposed to him I am.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he says, nodding toward a hallway as he sets my suitcase down.
“The kitchen is there,” he adds, pointing through to the open plan living space.
“I need to make some calls, make sure no one’s on our trail yet.
” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a reminder that we’re not safe, not really.