13. Sienna #2
"What the hell do you think you're doing?
" His voice is rough, dangerous, but I can see the way his eyes are devouring me.
I can see his hands flex at his sides, the tension in his muscles.
It frightens me more than a little—he always does—but now I find it arousing too.
Now that I know what those hands can do to me .
I bite my lip. “Waiting for you.” I see the confusion in his eyes, warring with arousal, and I spread my legs a little wider, gliding my fingertips over my clit. “I saw you this morning,” I whisper. “Watching me while you?—”
“So you spied on me,” he interrupts, his tone dark and forbidding. “I told you not to come back into my room, Sienna.”
“I didn’t. Not this morning. I just… saw.”
“But you’re in here now.” His eyes narrow. “And you’re wearing panties.”
My heart leaps in my chest, thinking that he’s going to cave, that his desire is already overtaking his reservations. But his expression only darkens.
“Get dressed, Sienna,” he snaps. “Now.”
"Why?" I slide my hand between my legs, gasping softly at the contact. "So you can go back to pretending you don't want me? So you can watch more videos instead of touching the real thing?"
I’m playing with fire, and I know it. But I also know that men like to be teased. Damian is a dangerous man to bait… but a part of me, a wild, uncontrolled part that I’ve never gotten to indulge, wants to know what he’s like when his control snaps.
" Sienna ." There's a warning in his voice, but also something else. Hunger. Need . I can hear it rasping in his throat, see the tick of the muscle in his jaw.
"I'm right here, Damian." I circle my clit with one finger, spreading my folds with the other two, letting him see exactly what I'm doing. “This felt better when you did it last night. Did my hand feel better than yours too? We could do that again.” I bite my lip, letting a soft, gasping noise slip out as I feel a jolt of pleasure race through me. This feels better than it ever has before. Maybe it’s because I want the audience watching me now.
I see him swallow hard. “You don’t need to do this, Sienna.”
I narrow my eyes at him, spreading my legs a fraction wider.
“Don’t tell me what I need,” I purr, arching my back slightly.
“I liked it when you made me come last night. I liked how it felt when you ruined my nightgown.” Carmen’s story at the club comes back to me, giving me a spark of inspiration.
“Maybe you could ruin something else, too.”
Damian’s jaw tightens, and I see that I’ve gone a step too far. “Enough, Sienna. You’re being disobedient. You’ve already broken two rules that I laid down for you. And?—”
“Are you going to punish me?” I suggest, my lips curving as my heart races faster. “Is that what you want to do, Damian? Is that what you like?”
Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes.
“I should,” he mutters, and I hear his voice deepen, that rasp grating as he takes a step forward, and then another.
For a moment, I think I’m going to get what I think I want, and my hand freezes between my legs as Damian looms over me, his expression forbidding.
“You’re not going to come tonight,” he murmurs, reaching down to scoop my shorts up off the floor, holding them in one large fist. “I’m going to bend you over this chair for a different reason, kotenok . You’re going to go to bed with a sore ass and a wet pussy?—”
He stops, abruptly, when a sound that I’m all too familiar with now rings out from the lawn of the estate, outside the windows.
The crack of a gunshot.
Damian freezes for a split second, and then shifts into action, his entire demeanor changing. He reaches for me, pulling me up out of the chair as he hands me my shorts. “Get dressed,” he snaps, and there’s no heat in his voice any longer, nothing but cold calculation. “Now.”
In the distance, I can hear shouting, more gunshots, the sound of vehicles. His head snaps toward the window, and I see him move toward his dresser, yanking a drawer open and reaching inside for a gun. His face is smooth and cold, and I feel my pulse racing for a different reason.
"What's happening?" I gasp, my hands shaking as I try to get dressed, and Damian looks back toward me, checking the clip in his gun.
“We might be under attack,” he says tightly. “I think this might be Giovanni’s answer. ”
That last sentence doesn’t make any sense to me, but it doesn’t have to.
Terror shoots through me as the reality of the situation hits.
This isn't just about me anymore—Adam is in this house, sleeping in his room down the hall, completely unaware of the danger. Everything else is forgotten as the world narrows down to the fact that we’re in danger, and my son isn’t with me.
“You said it would be safe here,” I gasp. “What’s happening, Damian? Why… how…”
“I don’t know,” he snaps, his voice tight. “I have no fucking idea. You need to stay here. I’ll go get Adam.”
I shake my head fiercely, grabbing his arm. “I’m coming with you.”
"Sienna—"
"He's my son." My voice is firm despite my fear. I can feel my fingers trembling, but in this, I’m resolute. "I'm not hiding while he's in danger."
Damian looks like he wants to argue, but another burst of gunfire from closer to the house makes the decision for him. "Stay behind me," he orders. "Do exactly what I say, when I say it. I mean it, Sienna."
It all feels too much like that night in the warehouse for my comfort. Panic courses through me, chilling my blood, making me want to run, to hide, but this time it’s not just me. Adam is here, and I have to make sure that he’s safe. That’s all that matters to me.
I nod, and we move toward the door. Damian opens it carefully, gun raised, checking the hallway before motioning for me to follow.
We move quickly but quietly toward Adam's room, and I can hear more sounds of violence from downstairs—breaking glass, shouting, the distinctive sound of automatic weapons.
Adam's door is closed, and when Damian pushes it open, I see my son sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks confused but not scared yet—the sounds haven't fully woken him.
"Mama?" he says when he sees me, and my heart breaks at how small and vulnerable he looks. The room over the last week has been completely redone for him—he now has a more appropriately toddler-sized bed, for one—but in this moment, he still looks impossibly small to me.
It takes everything in me to stay calm for him. To not let him see that I’m terrified right now.
"Hey, baby." I move to the bed, forcing my voice to stay even. "We need to go on a little adventure, okay? With Damian."
Damian is at the window, looking out at the grounds. "Three vehicles," he says grimly. "At least a dozen men. They're surrounding the house. Konstantin will already be down there with security."
“How are they here?” I whisper, scooping Adam into my arms. “How could they?—”
“I don’t know.” His voice has a thread of cold anger in it that’s terrifying to hear.
“But we’ll find out. Konstantin and I will get to the bottom of this.
” There’s something strangely comforting in the way he says it, like it’s a foregone conclusion that it will be dealt with, that we’ll all survive it.
Like there’s no question that he and Konstantin will be alive afterward to figure out how this happened, and that means we will be too.
There's a sound from downstairs that makes my blood run cold—the unmistakable crash of a window being kicked in.
Adam whimpers in my arms, and I hold him tighter, trying to shield him from the sounds of violence that are getting closer.
"We need to move," Damian says, his voice low and urgent.
"There's a panic room on the second floor. Valentina should already be there.”
He moves to the door again, checking the hallway, and then motions for us to follow. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else, but I force myself to stay calm for Adam's sake. He's looking around with wide, confused eyes, and I can tell he's starting to get scared.
"It's okay, baby," I whisper against his hair. "We're just going to play a game, okay? We're going to be very quiet."
Damian leads us down the hallway, moving with a slow, measured steadiness that's terrifying and reassuring at the same time. It’s clear, just like it was that night at the warehouse, that he knows exactly what he's doing, every movement calculated and precise.
When we reach the stairs, he holds up a hand, listening for a moment before nodding and starting down.
The sounds of fighting are louder now—I can hear men shouting, the crash of furniture being overturned, more gunshots. My legs feel weak, but I force myself to keep moving, to follow Damian as he leads us through the house.
We don't go toward the main staircase. Instead, he takes us down a hallway I've never been in before, to what looks like a utility closet.
But when he opens the door, there's another door behind it, this one made of heavy steel.
He punches in a code on a keypad, and the door swings open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down.
"Go," he says, and I don't hesitate. I can hear the fighting getting closer, and all I can think about is getting Adam somewhere safe. Adam’s face is pressed into my shoulder now, his small body trembling, and I know he’s terrified. A burst of anger tears through me, a raw feeling that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
Terrible things have happened to me in my life.
Bad, hurtful, wrong things. Adam’s father.
The men at the strip club. Sean. That night at the warehouse.
But I’ve never felt hate like I do now, like I feel toward the men responsible for this attack, who are the reason my son is terrified right now.
Who are the reason that some part of him will always remember this night, a trauma that will mark him forever.