The bedroom door shuddered under another violent kick.
Sienna's heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at Dante, his gun steady in his hand, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her forget how to breathe.
"Choose, Sienna." His voice was deadly calm. "Me or the file. Right now."
She could hear the men in the hallway. They weren't just breaking in anymore. They were destroying everything, tearing the penthouse apart, searching for something. For her. For the ledger.
The file sat on the nightstand, that damned leather folder that could send her father's legacy up in flames. Everything she had left of the Blackwood name was in those pages.
But Dante was standing here, bleeding from a cut above his eye, asking her to trust him.
"You," she whispered.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Surprise. Maybe even shock. But his mask slammed back into place so fast she almost thought she'd imagined it.
"Smart girl." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the far wall. "Move. Now."
"Where are we going? The door is..."
"Forget the door."
He pressed his palm against a section of the mahogany bookshelf. There was a soft click, and the entire unit swung inward like something out of a movie. Behind it was a narrow corridor, dimly lit by emergency lights.
Sienna's jaw dropped. "You have a secret passage in your bedroom?"
"I have enemies, Sienna. Did you think I'd sleep somewhere without an exit strategy?" He shoved her inside. "Go. Straight ahead. Don't stop."
The door behind them exploded inward just as Dante pulled the bookshelf closed. She heard the masked men pouring into the bedroom, shouting in a language she didn't recognize. Russian, maybe. Or something Eastern European.
Dante's hand was firm on her lower back, urging her forward through the narrow space. The walls were concrete, cold and industrial. This wasn't just a panic room. This was a real escape route.
"How far does this go?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"Service elevator. Two floors down. Leads to the parking garage."
They moved fast, their footsteps echoing in the tight corridor. Sienna's bare feet slapped against the cold floor. She was still wearing the silk robe from earlier, and nothing else. The fabric clung to her skin, damp with sweat and fear.
Behind them, she heard muffled crashes. The men were tearing the bedroom apart.
Dante pulled out his phone as they reached a metal door at the end of the passage. The screen glowed in the darkness, showing a grid of security camera feeds.
Sienna looked over his shoulder and her stomach dropped.
The penthouse was a war zone. Furniture overturned. Paintings slashed. Glass everywhere. And the men, at least six of them, all dressed in black tactical gear, moved through the space like professionals. They weren't just thieves. They were trained.
"Oh my God," she breathed.
Dante's jaw clenched. He swiped to another camera. The living room. The kitchen. His office. All destroyed.
Then he swiped to the hallway outside the bedroom.
Maria, the maid who had warned them, was on her knees. One of the masked men had her by the hair, dragging her toward the elevator. She was screaming, her voice raw with terror.
Sienna's hand flew to her mouth. "Dante, we have to help her!"
"We can't."
"What? We can't just leave her!"
He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the screen as Maria disappeared into the elevator, still screaming. The doors closed, cutting off her cries.
"Collateral damage," Dante said flatly.
Sienna stared at him, horror rising like bile in her throat. "She's a person. She helped us. How can you just..."
"Because if we go back, we die too." He shoved the phone into his pocket and yanked open the metal door. "And I'm not dying tonight."
The service elevator was waiting, just like he said. Small, industrial, with peeling paint and a flickering overhead light. Dante pushed her inside and hit the button for the garage level.
The elevator jerked into motion.
Sienna pressed herself against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Maria's screams still echoed in her head. The men tearing through Dante's home. The cold, detached look on his face when he said collateral damage.
This was the real Dante Moretti. Not the man who had touched her with surprising gentleness during the seven nights. Not the man who had looked at her like she mattered.
This was the Ice King. The man who survived by being ruthless.
And she had just chosen him over everything else.
The elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors opened onto a concrete parking garage, dim and echoing. Dante stepped out first, gun raised, scanning the space.
"Clear," he muttered. "Marcus should be here by now."
As if on cue, headlights flared at the far end of the garage. A black SUV roared toward them, tires squealing on the polished concrete.
The vehicle skidded to a stop in front of them. The driver's side door opened and a man stepped out. Mid-forties, military build, with a scar running down his neck. He moved like someone who knew how to handle himself.
"Mr. Moretti," the man said. His voice was gravelly, calm. "We need to move. Now."
"Agreed." Dante grabbed Sienna's arm and pulled her toward the SUV. "Marcus, this is Sienna. Sienna, Marcus. My driver and head of security."
Marcus nodded at her once, his expression unreadable. "Ma'am."
Dante yanked open the back door of the SUV.
That's when Sienna saw it.
The body.
It was slumped across the back seat, head tilted at an unnatural angle. A man, dressed in a cheap suit, his eyes still open and staring at nothing. Blood had pooled beneath him, soaking into the leather seats.
His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
Pinned to his chest was a note, the paper already darkening with blood.
Sienna screamed.
Dante caught her before her knees gave out, his arm tight around her waist. She couldn't stop staring at the body. At the face.
It was Silas.
The man who had threatened her at the gala. The man who had blackmailed Julian. The driver who had killed Dante's father and spent fifteen years in prison for it.
Now he was dead in the back of an SUV, with a message stabbed into his chest.
"Don't look," Dante ordered, trying to turn her away.
But she couldn't stop. Her eyes were locked on the note. The handwriting was sharp, almost elegant.
**You're next, Moretti.**
Marcus moved around the vehicle and opened the opposite door. He grabbed Silas by the shoulders and hauled the body out onto the concrete with zero ceremony. It hit the ground with a wet thud.
Sienna gagged.
"Get in," Dante said, his voice hard. He shoved her into the back seat, not giving her time to protest.
She landed on the leather, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't grip anything. The seat was still warm. Still wet with Silas's blood.
Dante slid in beside her and slammed the door. "Drive. Now."
Marcus was already behind the wheel. The SUV peeled out of the garage, tires screaming.
Sienna pressed herself into the corner, as far from the blood as she could get. Her mind was spinning. Silas was dead. Someone had killed him and left him as a warning.
"Who did this?" she managed to choke out.
Dante didn't answer right away. He was staring out the window, his jaw tight, his hand resting on the gun in his lap.
Finally, he spoke. "Someone who wants me to know they're coming."
Marcus glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Sir, there's more. Silas was found an hour ago in an alley near the Blackwood apartment. Someone delivered him to me. Along with this."
He handed Dante a burner phone.
Dante turned it on. The screen lit up with a single voicemail notification.
He put it on speaker.
The voice that came through was distorted, mechanical, impossible to identify. But the words were crystal clear.
"The girl is the key. Bring her to the Port Authority warehouse at dawn. Alone. Or your entire empire burns."
The message ended.
Silence filled the SUV.
Sienna felt like she couldn't breathe. The girl is the key. They were talking about her. Not the ledger. Not the money.
Her.
"Dante," she whispered. "What does that mean? Why do they want me?"
He turned to look at her, and for the first time since this nightmare started, she saw something in his eyes that terrified her more than anything else.
Fear.
"The ledger isn't just evidence of your father's crimes," he said quietly. "It contains bank routing numbers. Offshore accounts. Five hundred million dollars in syndicate money."
Her blood turned to ice. "What?"
"Whoever controls those accounts controls the entire East Coast underworld." His hand tightened on the gun. "And they think you know how to access them."
"But I don't! I don't know anything about..."
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out with shaking hands. A text message from an unknown number. Just a photo.
She opened it.
And her heart stopped.
It was her father. Tied to a chair in what looked like a warehouse. His face was bruised and bloody. His eyes were wide with terror.
Below the photo, a single line of text.
**I'm sorry, sis. They have Dad. If you don't give them what they want, they'll kill him. Julian.**
Sienna stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears filled her eyes.
This wasn't just about Dante's revenge anymore.
This wasn't even about the seven nights she owed him.
This was about survival.
And the monsters hunting them weren't going to stop until everyone she loved was dead.
