Chapter 19 Sienna
SIENNA
I had entered into an alternate reality. That was the only explanation for how Declan was standing in the middle of my brother’s living room, looking like he wanted to kill me.
Not Declan. Dimitri?
“No one is going anywhere until someone tells me what the fuck is going on,” Matteo said, voice dangerously low.
Oh god. I couldn’t do this in front of everyone.
I shot Sofiya a desperate look, mouthing please.
Her wide eyes told me she was just as lost as everyone else, but she was the best sister ever because she just gave me a quick nod and said something to her brother in Russian.
His jaw ticked, but he slowly released his hold on her shoulder so she could move to Matteo’s side. “You two can talk in the library.”
“No, no one is going anywhere,” Matteo roared.
Clementine let out a devastating little cry at her dad’s raised voice. Mila rubbed her back, but Clem’s lower lip would not be deterred from trembling. Matteo swore and strode over to them, lifting his daughter in his arms. She settled instantly as he murmured to her in Italian.
Sofiya waved frantically to grab my attention. Go, go, go, she mouthed, gesturing towards the library. I wasted no time slipping down the hall. Quiet footsteps confirmed Dimitri was following me.
I closed the library door behind us, but couldn’t bring myself to face whatever the fuck this was, so I took my time turning on all the lamps in the room.
Why weren’t there more lamps in this room? I saw some really nice ones at this antique shop the other day…
Dimitri cleared his throat.
Right.
I braced myself and turned to face him. His arms crossed over the large expanse of his chest and his cold gaze slowly raked over my body, making me feel naked and exposed.
“I have to say, I’m impressed,” he said through gritted teeth. Rage pulsed around him like a tangible thing, and I felt ten steps behind. Why was he so angry?
I swallowed hard. “Impressed?” I hated how weak my voice sounded, how slowly my mind was working. I kept getting stuck on inconsequential details—the way the lamplight cast his tall shadow on the wall, the crawling, itching feeling taking over my body, the crooked painting behind his head.
“No one was supposed to know I was in Paris,” he drawled. “How did your brother find me, or do you even know? He probably just told you where to go and what to do.” His expression, the set of his body, his tone, dripped with disdain. It was so strange to hear him speak without an Irish accent.
It took a minute to understand what he was saying. “I…I wasn’t in Paris for you. I was there on vacation.”
Dimitri’s jaw clenched. “You really expect me to believe that? That we just happened to have breakfast at cafés across the street from each other? And then you just happened to come to the club where I was? I have to give it to you—you’re a good fucking actress.”
He scoffed and the sound was so fucking obnoxious it sparked my anger.
“What? You seriously think I was stalking you? I didn’t know who you were!
You had a fake name and accent—how the fuck would I know?
” I was shouting now, my clenched fists shaking with rage.
“I’ve seen exactly one picture of you and Sofiya, and it was years old and you were bald.
Maybe you were the one following me so you could trap the Don’s sister. ”
“And why the fuck would I want you?” His voice was like ice—cold and dangerous. I automatically took a small step back and immediately hated myself for it. My knees locked. I would not cower, especially not to some lying fuckboy.
“I already have the alliance I need with the Don,” he continued. “Why would I want to be saddled with a spoiled Mafia princess?”
His words landed like blows, and I fought to keep my face blank. My muddled mind didn’t have an answer, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me.
“You approached me in that club,” he snapped, “and we used the condoms you supplied, that you could have tampered with. So forgive me if I can’t believe this is all some fucking coincidence.”
My mouth gaped. “You’re the one who put on the condoms. How do I know you didn’t remove them?”
The air was thick with anger as we faced off. My hand returned to the curve of my belly as if I could shield my baby from the tension suffocating the room. He tracked my movement.
Suddenly, all the energy drained from my body.
The weight of my entire life was crashing down on me.
I lowered myself down on the couch, not caring if it made me look weak, and stared out the window.
Autumn in New York meant the most beautiful evenings, and today was no different.
The sky was candy red and pink, the glowing sun low on the horizon.
How had my life gotten so out of control?
Dimitri sat down across from me, but the lines of his body were anything but relaxed.
“You’re what? Three months?” At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.
“Fourteen weeks. They count pregnancy weeks differently.”
“How do I even know it’s mine?”
I shrugged, still looking out the window. “I guess you don’t.”
“You could have fucked someone else on your vacation.”
“I could have. But I didn’t.” I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before turning back to the man in front of me.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I don’t need anything from you.
I’m not asking anything from you. Whatever trap you think I was laying, it doesn’t exist. You can move on with your life. ”
His jaw ticked. “You are carrying my heir. So yeah, it does fucking matter. My heir can’t be a bastard.”
“This child is not your heir.” My blood boiled. “It’s a baby.”
He waved his hand like he was swatting away my words. “It’s a distinction without a difference.”
My lungs contracted like I’d jumped into a frozen lake. I struggled to take a breath. My fingers curled tighter around my belly.
A few precious weeks. That’s all I’d gotten with my baby before they became a pawn in men’s games. I wanted my child to grow up knowing they were always loved, always a priority, and free to live whatever life they wanted. Instead, they were already tangled in a spider’s web of power-hungry men.
Maybe I should have lied, told him the baby wasn’t his. My heart ached at the idea of my baby growing up without a father, but abandonment was preferable to being treated like an asset to be used or traded.
“I’m not going to let you or the Bratva steal my baby’s childhood,” I snapped.
My eyes burned, but I refused to let him see me cry.
I needed to be strong for the baby. They deserved the world—all the best I’d ever gotten and so much more.
“No one ever needs to know it’s yours,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel.
“You can find a woman you actually like to produce your heir and forget this ever happened.”
“That’s not how it works and you know it. Blood is everything in our world.”
“What are you even saying? You think I’m some manipulative bitch trying to trap you and now you’re saying…what? That you want to marry me?”
The scathing look he gave me was answer enough.
“No, Sienna, I don’t want to marry you, but take a minute to use your fucking brain,” he hissed.
“Do you think your brother lets me walk out of here without taking responsibility for you and that?” He gestured at my stomach.
“Do you truly believe the news won’t spread?
Underground whisper networks live for shit like this.
I’m the Pakhan. I can’t have this weakness hanging over me, being used by my enemies.
And you’re in the same situation. How are the capos going to react when they find out your secret?
Are you so sure your brother’s authority faces no threats? ”
The room spun around me and I forced myself to take a deep breath.
He was right, and I hated it. It didn’t matter how careful I was.
People would find out I was pregnant and would forever speculate on who the father was.
Just like Dimitri couldn’t afford any weaknesses for his enemies to exploit, Matteo couldn’t, either.
He had finally won the city back from the Butcher and his sex trafficking ring, but new enemies were always rising up in this world.
Sustained peace and safety were only possible if the Family presented a solid, unimpeachable front.
“So, what do you suggest we do?” My voice was as icy and hateful as I could make it.
I’d been agonizing over this for weeks, but Dimitri had clocked the issue in a second. This was how his mind worked—consumed with schemes, manipulation, and a hunger for power. A Bratva man through and through.
He ran his hand along his jaw. “There’s only one option. We get married.”
The man who had been my lover, the father of my baby, spoke in the same tone you would expect at a board meeting. Practical. Logical.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a raised finger. “You will move to Chicago with me. Once the baby is here, we will separate quietly. That way, I have a legitimate heir, and both our families have protection from rumors and scrutiny.”
“And what am I supposed to do when we’re separated? Be alone for the rest of my life? We can’t divorce. You can have as many mistresses as you want, but I’ll be seen as damaged goods.”
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, arrogance lining his body. “More damaged than if you carry a bastard? The choice is easy—do you want to be seen as a whore or be a little lonely?”
I jumped to my feet, eyes blazing. His condescending comment cut me straight to the core. Facing decades of loneliness was terrifying.
My entire adult life I’d been sure of one thing: I would never marry a Made Man. I dreamed of finding a husband with a boring office job who put me first.
For once in my life, I wanted to be the priority.
“You’re the bastard here,” I said, my tone like ice.