Chapter 5 The Night of the Blindfold

The ringing of the phone was like a siren in the small, charged space between them.

It was a sharp, digital scream that cut through the thick tension of the room. Sienna stared at the screen.

Dad Calling.

Her heart did a slow, painful roll in her chest. Her father never called this late. Never.

Dante stood over her, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the sofa. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

He just watched her with those cold, predatory eyes, waiting to see if she would break.

"Pick it up," Dante said again. His voice was like a low vibration in the floorboards.

Sienna reached out, her fingers trembling so violently she almost dropped the device. she swiped the screen and pressed it to her ear.

"Dad?"

"Sienna? Are you there?" Her father's voice sounded thin. Brittle. Like dry leaves being crushed under a boot. "I... I saw the news.

The photos of you and Moretti at that gala. Tell me it isn't true. Tell me you aren't with him."

Sienna looked up at Dante. He was leaning down now, his face inches from hers, listening to every word. A cruel, triumphant light flickered in his gaze.

"I'm working, Dad," she lied, her voice cracking. "It's a project. A merger. I'm fine."

"He's a monster, Sienna! He's trying to kill us!" Her father started coughing, a deep, wet sound that made Sienna's stomach turn.

"Don't let him near you. He'll use you to get to me. He wants to destroy everything I built."

"I know, Dad. I know. Please, just go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

She hung up before he could say anything else. She couldn't handle the sound of his weakness anymore. Not when the man who was actually holding her life in his hands was staring her down.

Dante reached out and took the phone from her, tossing it onto the cushions. "He sounds pathetic. Is that the man you're trying to save? A murderer who hides behind his daughter's skirts?"

"He's my father!" Sienna shouted, standing up and pushing against Dante's chest. "Whatever he did, he did it for us! You don't know what it's like to want to protect your family!"

Dante's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and twisting it just enough to make her gasp. He pulled her flush against him, his body hard as granite.

"I know exactly what it's like," he hissed. "I've spent fifteen years protecting the memory of a man who was erased because your father wanted a bigger paycheck.

Don't talk to me about protection."

He dragged her toward the bedroom. Sienna stumbled, the high slit of her gown fluttering against her legs. She tried to fight, but the physical difference between them was too great.

He was a force of nature, and she was just a girl caught in the storm.

Inside the bedroom, the only light came from the moon reflecting off the river outside. Dante pushed her toward the center of the room.

"You tried to rob me tonight," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet growl. "You chose the man who blackmailed you over the man who gave you a deal.

That deserves a very specific kind of punishment."

He picked up the red silk tie from the dresser.

"Night Two was supposed to be about conversation. About understanding. But you've proven that you can't be trusted with your eyes open."

Sienna backed away until her heels hit the edge of the bed. "Dante, don't. Please. I'm sorry. I was just scared."

"You should be scared," he agreed.

He moved toward her. He didn't rush. He didn't have to. He took the tie and stepped behind her.

Sienna felt the heat of him against her back, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of the rain still clinging to his hair.

He wrapped the silk over her eyes, pulling it tight.

The world vanished.

"No," she whispered, her hands reaching out into the darkness. "Dante, I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it. You just have to endure it."

His voice was right behind her ear. She felt his hands on the zipper of her dress. The sound of it sliding down was deafening in the silence.

The cool air of the room hit her skin, and she shivered. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet like a discarded skin.

"Rule Number One," Dante murmured. She could feel his breath on her neck. "Since you like to look for things that don't belong to you, you don't get to see anything at all tonight.

You're going to stay in the dark. You're going to listen to me, and you're going to feel me. That's it."

He guided her onto the bed. Without her sight, the texture of the silk sheets felt different. Rougher. Thicker. She felt exposed, a raw nerve in the center of the vast, dark room.

"Dante? Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

She felt a weight on the bed beside her. Then, a touch. It started at her ankle, a slow, deliberate line drawn by a single finger up her calf, over her knee, and stopping at the inside of her thigh.

Sienna's breath hitched. Without her eyes, every nerve ending in her body felt like it was on fire.

"You think your father is a good man," Dante said. She felt him lean over her, his voice coming from somewhere above her chest.

"But did he tell you about the second ledger? The one Julian is so desperate to find?"

"What about it?" she managed to ask. Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

"It's not just about the accident, Sienna. It's about the bribes. The shortcuts. The construction sites that collapsed because your father used substandard steel to save a few million.

People died long before my father ever got behind the wheel of that car."

The finger moved higher, tracing the lace of her underwear. Sienna wanted to close her legs, to hide, but she was frozen.

"Is that true?"

"I don't lie, Sienna. That's the difference between me and the men in your life."

He replaced his hand with his lips. He kissed the sensitive skin of her stomach, his stubble grazing her. Sienna felt a sob catch in her throat. The conflict was tearing her apart.

She hated him for what he was saying, for what he was doing, but her body was responding to him with a betrayal so deep it made her want to scream.

She reached out, her hands finding his shoulders. He was solid. Real. The only thing she could feel in the void.

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"Because I want you to know exactly whose debt you're paying," he rasped.

He moved his mouth back to hers, but it wasn't a kiss. It was an interrogation. He tasted like whiskey and bitterness, but as she opened to him, the flavor changed. It became something primal. Something obsessive.

The night stretched out into an endless cycle of darkness and sensation. Dante was a phantom in the room, appearing and disappearing, his touch the only thing that kept her grounded.

He pushed her to the edge of her endurance, testing her, making her beg for the blindfold to be removed, but he never gave in.

"Not yet," he would whisper whenever she pleaded. "You haven't surrendered yet. You're still fighting. You're still thinking about that file."

"I don't care about the file!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I just want to see you! Please, Dante!"

"Tell me," he commanded, his hands pinning her wrists to the pillows. "Tell me you don't want Julian. Tell me you don't want your father. Tell me you only want me."

The room felt like it was spinning. Sienna was lost in the dark, her body humming with a need she couldn't control.

The loyalty she had felt for her family was fraying, worn thin by the truth and the sheer, overwhelming power of the man over her.

"I... I only want you," she sobbed.

The moment the words left her lips, the tension in the room snapped. Dante let out a low, guttural sound and pulled the blindfold off.

The dim moonlight hit her eyes, making her squint. Dante was hovering over her, his face a mask of raw, unfiltered emotion.

He didn't look like a conqueror. He looked like a man who was starving and had finally found a piece of bread.

He kissed her then, and it was different. It was desperate. It was almost a plea.

But just as they were about to lose themselves in each other, a muffled thud sounded from the living room. It wasn't the front door. It was closer. Like someone had dropped something heavy in the hallway.

Dante went still. He rolled off her, reaching for the handgun he kept in the nightstand drawer.

"Stay here," he whispered, his voice cold as ice.

"Dante, no!"

He didn't listen. He moved toward the door, silent as a ghost. Sienna scrambled to wrap herself in the silk robe, her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst.

A second later, a scream echoed through the penthouse.

It wasn't Dante's scream. It was a woman's.

Sienna ran to the door, throwing it open despite Dante's warning. She reached the hallway just in time to see Dante standing over a figure huddled on the floor.

It was a young woman, no older than twenty. She was wearing a maid's uniform, but her face was covered in blood. She was clutching a leather folder to her chest.

"I found it," the girl gasped, looking at Dante with terrified eyes. "I found the second ledger. But they saw me, Mr. Moretti. They're coming."

Dante grabbed the folder, his eyes wide. He looked at Sienna, then at the girl.

"Who saw you?"

"The men in the black masks," the girl whispered. "The ones Silas sent. They're in the building, Dante. They're in the vents."

As the words left her mouth, the lights in the penthouse flickered and died. The entire building went into lockdown, the red emergency lights bathing the hallway in a bloody glow.

The sound of shattering glass erupted from the kitchen.

Dante grabbed Sienna's hand, pulling her back into the bedroom.

"The file," Sienna gasped. "Is that it? The one Julian wanted?"

"It's the one that kills your father, Sienna," Dante said, his voice grim as he checked the magazine of his gun. "And it looks like Silas is willing to burn this whole building down to get it back."

A heavy thud hit the bedroom door. Then another. Someone was trying to kick it in.

Dante looked at her, his eyes intense in the red light. "I can save you, or I can save the file. Choose, Sienna. Right now."