Chapter 3 The Coldest Hour

"Dante! Open this door! You can't just leave me locked in here!"

Sienna hammered her fists against the heavy oak door of the master suite. The sound was dull, swallowed by the soundproofing of the penthouse.

She waited, pressing her ear to the wood, hoping to hear his retreating footsteps or the chime of the elevator. Nothing. Just the hum of the air conditioning and the thud of her own frantic heart.

The man who killed his father.

The words echoed in her mind, chilling her more than the silence. Dante had always been a shadow in her life, a boogeyman her brother whispered about, but she never knew the source of his rage.

Now, she was locked in his bedchamber while he went out to hunt a ghost.

She turned away from the door, her breath coming in ragged hitches. The room that had felt like a den of seduction ten minutes ago now felt like a tomb.

She paced the length of the silk carpet, the hem of Dante's oversized robe brushing against her bare ankles.

She needed to know more. If she was going to survive seven nights with a man on the edge of a breakdown, she couldn't stay in the dark.

Sienna approached his desk in the corner of the room. It was minimalist, carved from a single piece of dark stone.

A laptop sat closed, but beside it was a leather-bound journal and a stack of old, yellowed newspaper clippings.

She hesitated. If he caught her snooping, the contract was over. Julian would be behind bars by dawn. But the curiosity was a physical itch.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, and turned over the first clipping.

TRAGEDY AT MORETTI PLAZA: CONSTRUCTION MOGUL KILLED IN HIT-AND-RUN.

The date was fifteen years ago. There was a grainy photo of a younger, devastated Dante standing beside a casket. But it was the sub-headline that made her blood run cold.

Witnesses claim driver was linked to Blackwood Development Corp.

Sienna gasped, dropping the paper as if it had burned her. Her father's company. The rivalry wasn't just about business or money.

It was blood. It had always been blood. Dante didn't just want her to humiliate Julian; he wanted her because she was the daughter of the man he held responsible for his father's death.

A low, mechanical click sounded from the door.

Sienna scrambled away from the desk, her heart leaping into her throat. She barely made it to the edge of the bed before the door swung open.

Dante stood in the threshold. His hair was disheveled, his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, and the scent of rain and copper clung to him. He looked like he had walked through hell and brought back souvenirs.

"You're back," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Dante didn't answer. He closed the door and locked it with a slow, deliberate turn of the wrist. He leaned his head back against the wood, closing his eyes.

The raw power he usually radiated was replaced by something jagged and exhausted.

"Did you find him?" she asked, stepping toward him.

His eyes snapped open. They weren't grey anymore; they were black with a storm of adrenaline. "He's gone. Folded like a lawn chair the moment my men cornered him. He was sent as a message, Sienna. A reminder."

"A reminder of what happened to your father?"

Dante's gaze shifted to the desk. He saw the clippings, shifted just an inch out of place. His expression darkened into something truly terrifying.

He moved faster than she could blink, crossing the room and pinning her against the bedpost.

"You've been digging," he growled.

"I had to know why you hate us so much! You're using me for a revenge that happened a decade ago, Dante. My father is a good man. He would never..."

"Your father built his empire on the bones of mine!" Dante roared, his face inches from hers. "He knew the brakes were tampered with.

He knew I was in the car too. I was twelve years old, Sienna. I watched my father bleed out on the asphalt while your family celebrated a new contract."

He shoved away from her, pacing the room like a caged animal. "And now, here you are. The precious Blackwood princess, offering herself up to save the brother who is just as crooked as the father."

"Then why did you agree to the seven nights?" she cried out, tears finally spilling over. "If you hate us that much, why touch me? Why keep me here?"

Dante stopped. He turned to look at her, his eyes raking over her body in the silk robe. The anger didn't leave his face, but it began to melt into something else. Something hungrier.

"Because the only way to truly destroy a man like your father is to take the one thing he kept pure," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky low.

"And because, God help me, I've wanted to ruin you since the moment you turned eighteen."

He walked back to her, his movements slow and hypnotic. He reached out with his bruised hand and tilted her chin up. "Night One isn't over yet, Sienna.

And I've had a very bad evening. I need a distraction."

"Dante, no. Not like this. Not while you're angry."

"Especially while I'm angry," he countered.

He didn't wait for her to agree. He grabbed the lapels of the robe and pulled her into him, his mouth crashing onto hers. It wasn't the slow, testing kiss from before.

This was a war. It was desperate, demanding, and tasted of whiskey and salt.

Sienna tried to push him away, but her hands betrayed her. Instead of shoving, she found herself clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles.

The heat between them was a physical force, a fire that threatened to burn away the hatred and the secrets.

He broke the kiss, both of them panting. "The bed. Now."

He didn't lead her this time. He lifted her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He dropped her onto the black silk sheets and followed her down, his weight a heavy, welcome pressure.

"I'm going to make you forget your name," he whispered against her throat. "I'm going to make you forget whose daughter you are."

He reached for the silk tie he had left on the bed earlier. He didn't use it to bind her hands this time. Instead, he used it to cover her eyes.

"The Blindfold Rule," he murmured as he tied the knot behind her head. "If you can't see me, you can't judge me. You can only feel what I do to you."

The world went black. Sienna's other senses heightened instantly. She could hear the rustle of his clothes as he discarded them.

She could smell the musk of his skin. She could feel the dip in the mattress as he moved between her thighs.

"Dante," she breathed, her hands searching for him in the dark.

"Hush," he commanded.

His hands were everywhere. They were rough where he wanted her to feel his power and gentle where he wanted her to feel her own desire.

He explored her as if he were memorizing a map, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Every time she tried to speak, he silenced her with his lips. He was thorough, patient, and absolutely relentless. Sienna felt her walls crumbling.

The shame she expected to feel was drowned out by a primal, overwhelming need to be closer to him.

She began to move with him, her hips rising to meet his touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She was no longer a Blackwood.

She was just a woman, caught in the grip of a man who was as much a victim as he was a villain.

Hours seemed to pass in that fever dream of touch and sound. Dante didn't stop until she was trembling, her skin slick with sweat, her voice hoarse from calling his name.

When he finally pulled the blindfold off, the first light of dawn was peeking through the curtains.

Sienna blinked, her vision clearing. Dante was looking down at her, his expression unreadable.

The rage was gone, replaced by a hollow, haunting silence. He looked like a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted and realized it wasn't enough.

He sat up, turning his back to her.

"Get dressed," he said, his voice flat.

"What?" Sienna sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. "The night is over?"

"Night One is over. My car will take you to your apartment to get the rest of your things. You have three hours. If you aren't back here by ten, I call the police on Julian."

He stood up and walked into the bathroom without looking back.

Sienna watched him go, feeling a strange, cold ache in her chest. She had survived the first night, but she realized with a jolt of terror that the danger wasn't just coming from Dante. It was coming from her.

She dressed quickly, her movements robotic. She found her bag by the door and made her way to the elevator. The penthouse was quiet, the staff not yet awake.

When she reached the lobby, a black sedan was waiting for her. The driver opened the door in silence.

As they drove through the awakening streets of New York, Sienna looked out the window. She felt like a stranger in her own life. She had saved Julian for another day, but at what cost?

The car pulled up to her apartment building. She hurried inside, wanting to see Julian, to demand the truth about the accident fifteen years ago.

She burst into the apartment, her heart racing. "Julian! We need to talk!"

The living room was a mess. Tables were overturned, and the glass coffee table was shattered.

"Julian?"

She ran to his bedroom. The door was hanging off its hinges. Julian was slumped against the wall, his face bruised, a bloody rag held to his nose.

"Sienna," he wheezed, looking up at her with terror-filled eyes. "He came back. He said... he said the deal changed."

"Who? Dante?"

"No," Julian whispered, shaking his head. "The other one. The man Dante was looking for.

He said if I don't give him the file Dante is hiding, he's going to kill us both. Sienna, you have to go back. You have to find it."

Sienna stared at her brother and tightened its grip on her heart.

She was a pawn in a game between two monsters, and she was the only one who didn't know the rules.