“I’m not dancing with you,” Sierra pouts, stepping back.
“Don’t make a scene.” I place my hands on her hips, reeling her in to my body. “I don’t think your father would appreciate it.”
“My father is an asshole.” She sets her hands lightly on my shoulders. “But you’re an even bigger one.”
A laugh rips from my mouth before I can stop it. “I got the memo, Firefly. You don’t need to remind me every chance you get.”
“I do when you choose to parade your fuck buddies in front of my face.” Her pretty mouth twists into a scowl as she watches Alessandro steer Chantel over to the other side of the dance floor. Chantel is drunk, swaying a little unsteadily on her feet while shooting daggers in my direction.
Ah, so Chantel has gotten to her. I frown as another thought pops in my head, my mind occupied with self-doubt for a split-second. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want Alesso anywhere near Chantel.
“If you want me to stop saying it, maybe try not being an asshole for five seconds,” she says, moving her hips in time to the music.
“Your father has made being an asshole a career choice, so why shouldn’t I?”
“You seriously want to emulate that man?” She arches a brow, and I instinctively pull her closer. “I don’t remember him being impressed with you or in any way pleasant to you, and now you want to be just like him?”
“I never said that.” I twirl her around, admiring the view. Her dress fans out around her as she spins, her body swaying elegantly, like a dancer on top of a music box. “But sometimes being an asshole is the only way to achieve certain results.”
I spin her back around and she collapses against my chest. Instead of pushing her away, like I know I should, my arms tighten around her lower back, and I hold her close. Her delicate floral scent wraps around me, and I wish I could steal her away. Someplace where it’s only the two of us and no interruptions. The things I want to do to her should be outlawed.
She peers up at me, shielding nothing, and my heart pounds at the naked vulnerability on display. God, she is so beautiful it makes my heart ache. “Is there any of the old Ben left in here?” she whispers, sliding her hand up my chest, resting it on my heart. Unlike when Natalia did it, my heart speeds up, beating furiously against the wall of my chest, almost as if it recognizes her touch and is straining toward it.
“That man is gone,” I tell her, and I’m grateful for the reminder. I can’t be the Ben of her memories. Not if I want to keep her and our son safe. Removing her hands, I take a step back though it kills me to put distance between us. “And you should know better than to waste your time on childish hopes.”
I expect her to lash out, but she hasn’t shaken the mantle of vulnerability yet. The fact she is being so honest with me now only adds to my guilt. She shakes her head, visibly gulping. “You’re right, I should.” Her face drops, and I hate I’m the cause of her misery, even if I know it has to be this way. “It’s not like I ever meant anything to you. Even now, you only tolerate me because of who I am to Rowan.”
She couldn’t be more wrong, but I don’t correct her. I say nothing, hiding my feelings behind my usual mask. Over her head, I spot Accardi motioning for me. He’s wearing his serious expression, which means something must have happened. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m needed elsewhere.” I turn to walk away but stop, glancing over my shoulder. She’s hurting, and it’s my fault. I want to give her at least one truth. “You are breathtaking tonight. You steal all the air from my lungs every time I look at you.”
I don’t wait for a reply or to see her expression, walking off before I do something idiotic like profess undying love. Instead, I leave her standing there, looking hurt and confused.
I find Alessandro before I join the other dons. He is struggling to hold Chantel upright, and her eyes are barely open. She is more drunk than I thought, and I’m disgusted. I would never have brought her here if I realized she no longer knew how to conduct herself in polite society. She’s a disgrace and an embarrassment. I need her gone.
“Take her up to her room,” I say, sliding her key card in his pocket.
“Bennett,” she slurs, making a grab for me. “I love you so much. Why are you so cruel to me?”
Someone is definitely testing me tonight. “Get her out of here with the minimal amount of attention,” I tell Alessandro, “and I might forgive your earlier transgressions.” He nods. “Ask Sierra’s father to get one of his men to keep an eye on her,” I add, “but don’t take long. Hurry back.”
I stalk off, heading toward Accardi. “What’s up?”
“We have a situation we need to handle,” he says. “Follow me.”
We exit the ballroom, taking a left down a long winding corridor, passing the male and female restrooms and a few other smaller convention rooms, until we reach a dead end. One of Accardi’s soldiers stands guard at a door on the right, and he steps aside to let us enter. I follow Gino down a flight of stairs into a dark basement room. The other three bosses are there, circling two men tied to chairs. One of the men is bleeding from the nose and has a split lip, and the second can barely see out of his swollen left eye.
“Bratva,” I supply, noting the distinct markings on their necks.
“We found them sniffing around outside,” DiPietro says, kicking the legs of one of the chairs. The man with the swollen eye takes a tumble to the cold hard ground with a thud.
“They are saying jack shit, but we’ve doubled the perimeter guards,” Maltese confirms as I pull my knife from the sheath on my calf.
Pressing my knife against the second man’s throat, I yank his head back. “Who sent you and why?”
He spits in my face, saying something that sounds like “mudak.” I punch him in the face, and his nose gushes more blood. I land a few well-placed blows to his gut, and he grunts in pain as his head drops.
“We don’t have time for this,” DiPietro says, his usual impatience coming to the fore. “Just kill them.”
“No.” I wipe the spittle off my face with my handkerchief. “I want to interrogate them. Ask Gifoli for a place to transport them to, and assign a couple of our men to watch them.” I don’t like the idea of Russians hanging around Chicago. I doubt these two are here alone. “I’ll make my excuses shortly and head there to handle it myself.”
I stuff the soiled handkerchief in the man’s mouth before lifting his shirt. I slice a deep line across his gut, just under his navel, careful not to get any blood on my Prada tuxedo. His screams are muffled by the handkerchief, but tears leak involuntarily from his eyes, and pain is etched upon his face. “That wound will slowly bleed out, and it will eventually kill you if not treated. Perhaps it will incentivize you to talk. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you live,” I lie.
The others nod, and we leave the basement in the care of a few of our best men. Noticing a few blood spatters on my hands, I stop by the men’s restroom to wash up.
When I emerge, I find a blonde waiting for me. But it’s not the blonde who occupies my every waking thought.
“Hello, Ben,” Saskia says, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward me. Her green silk dress leaves little to the imagination, and while it’s clearly expensive and she has spared no effort with her appearance tonight, she looks cheap and tacky in comparison to the vision that is Sierra.
Sierra trumps Saskia in every regard.
“I’ve been looking for an opportunity to get you alone all night,” she purrs, pressing herself up against me. I spotted her looking in my direction a few times, but for the most part, she didn’t look my way. Saskia is smart enough to not draw attention while her husband and her father are in the vicinity. But I knew she would attempt an ambush at some point. Whiskey fumes fan over my face as she leans in close, and I realize she’s quite inebriated. Her eyes are a little bloodshot, her skin flushed.
I step sideways, removing her hands from my body. “I don’t understand why.”
She bats her eyelashes, sid
ling up to me again. “Don’t be coy. I know you still want me the way I still want you.”
She’s persistent.
I’ll give her that.
But she’s about as appealing as a deadly rattlesnake.
“I have no interest in you, Saskia,” I truthfully admit. I haven’t forgotten she called the mother of my child a slut and my son a bastard. I also haven’t forgotten how mean she was to Sierra when she was a kid.
She titters like I’ve said something amusing. “You don’t have to worry about being seen or heard. Felix is with Alfredo and my father, and they are discussing some important business with your friends.” Her hand slides down the gap between our bodies, aiming for my crotch.
I grip her wrist before her fingers touch my cock. “You appear to be hard of hearing, so I’ll make this easy for you. I didn’t want to fuck you when we were dating, and I don’t want to fuck you now. Is that blunt enough for you?”
She tilts her head to the side, smiling up at me, and I wonder if she has more than just alcohol pumping through her veins. “I know what you’re up to. You want to make me beg, but I don’t beg any man, Ben. Not even you.”
Wow. She is truly a piece of work.
Before I can push her away, she slams me against the wall and slants her mouth against mine. A sharp gasp claims my attention, and I lock eyes with Sierra over Saskia’s shoulder. Tears roll silently down her face before she turns around and takes off, heading in the direction of the lobby.
28
SIERRA
I race through the entrance doors and down the stairs with no clue where I am going. All I know is I need to get out of here. I can’t erase the image of Ben kissing Saskia from my brain, and the pain spearing my chest is almost unbearable. I’m thirteen years old again, hiding in the shadows, watching my older sister kiss the guy I’m in love with, and my heart is aching for him, screaming at him to notice me, yet he still doesn’t see me.
Ben is stomping all over my heart except this time it’s worse because he is purposely choosing her over me.
I shouldn’t care.
He’s a monster, and I know I can do better. I’ve seen what he is capable of, and I should want nothing to do with him.
But I can’t lie to myself anymore.
I’m still in love with him.
I think I probably always have been, and I’m slowly accepting that loving a man like Ben means loving all parts of him.
I’m no better than I was as a kid. I’m still pining after a guy who will never be mine. The difference is, I’m a grown-up now. I’m a mother. I know better than to waste my time loving someone who will never love me back.
Sobs wrack my chest as my feet hit the sidewalk, and I dash along the side of the imperial gray stone building, my dress floating around me as I run with no direction. Piercing pain pokes holes in my chest as tears roll down my face, and I can hardly breathe over the intense internal agony ripping me apart on the inside.
It hurts. God, it hurts. So fucking badly.
“Sierra!” Ben shouts after me, his deep voice piercing the air.
I don’t stop, running aimlessly, needing to get away from him. I don’t want him to see me like this. He can’t see how pitiful and stupidly naïve I am, so I push my legs faster, fleeing from him. But my voluminous dress restricts my movements, and he has longer legs, so it doesn’t take him long to catch me.
“Sierra. Stop.” He takes my arm, forcing me back against the wall. I hang my head, unable to look at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing running outside by yourself? Has nothing I’ve said these past few months registered with you?” I can tell he’s working hard not to shout at me. “It’s not safe, Sierra. Especially tonight.”
I ignore him, looking at my feet, wishing I could click my fingers and magic myself back home. I want nothing more than to be curling in a ball under my comforter in bed, crying until I expunge my anguish.
I hate the power Ben has over me.
I hate I’m the one granting him that power.
I hate that I love him even more.
“Look at me,” he commands, but I ignore him, clamping my lips shut to keep my pain trapped inside.
“Firefly, please.” His voice is softer, his tone concerned, and it takes me back in time.
* * *
I’m trying not to cry, but the deep gash in my shin burns like I shoved my leg into a furnace instead of falling out of the tree, ripping the skin on a branch on the way down. I’m limping around the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood on Mom’s pristine white tiled floor as I search for the first aid kit. I know she keeps one in here, but I can’t find it.
“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” a deep voice says, startling me, and I jump, a shrill squeak fleeing my mouth before I can stop it. Bracing my hands on the kitchen counter, I silently pray that Ben turns around. I don’t want him to see me crying like a sissy. He’ll never see me as a woman if I keep giving him reminders I’m a kid.
“What happened?” he asks, concern underscoring his tone. “Why are you bleeding?”
“It’s nothing,” I lie, quickly swiping my tears away. “You should go back to Saskia. She’s probably looking for you.”
I feel him step up behind me, heat rolling off his body in waves. Butterflies run amok in my stomach, and my limbs tremble, like they always do in his presence. “Firefly. Look at me.”
“I’m okay, Ben.”
“I’d like to see that for myself.” He squeezes my shoulder, very lightly, and it’s brief, but it’s everything.
“Please, Firefly. Turn around and let me see.”
* * *
“Sierra.” Ben’s rich timbre pulls me out of the past. His finger presses under my chin, tipping my face up. His piercing blue eyes strip me bare, and he sees everything I have tried so hard to keep from him. From myself too. But I’m too heartsick now to shield the truth. “Please don’t cry.” He wipes his thumbs along the moisture collecting on my cheeks.
“Don’t touch me,” I say, but my tone lacks heat. I try to latch on to my anger because I know it’s there somewhere, simmering under the surface, but all I can find is sadness.
“Come here. Let me hold you.”
A spark of anger flares inside me. “I don’t want your pity, Ben. Go back to my sister. I’m sure you only have a short window to fuck Saskia before her husband starts looking for her.”
“It’s not what it looked like,” he says, looking completely unruffled, and that pisses me off.
“You kissed her! I saw you. Don’t even attempt to deny it.”
He steps closer, pressing his body flush against mine as he peers deep into my eyes. “She kissed me.”
My nostrils twitch as pain roars through me, transforming my sadness, fueling me with liquid rage. I push him back until there’s some distance between us. “That’s just semantics, Ben.”
His large palms grip my face, and a muscle pops in his jaw as he stares at me. “It’s not semantics. She cornered me and kissed me. You arrived just at that moment before I could push her away.”
I attempt to wrest my face from his hands, but he holds me firmly, refusing to let me go. “Quit with the bullshit, Ben. I know you’ve been fucking around with her, and it’s not like I have any claim on you. You are free to screw whoever you want. It’s no skin off my back if you have shit taste in women.”
I’m expecting one of his legendary smirks, but he surprises me, maintaining a solemn expression. “I haven’t touched Saskia in years, Sierra, and I never fucked her.”
Hope is a fickle beast, but he’s there, lying low, ready to throw a party. “But you said—”
“I was pissed, and I said it to annoy you, but I didn’t go to Saskia when I left your bedroom that day. I went to my house and slept for a few hours until I was calm enough to return to you and our son.”
“What about Chantel?” I hiss her name like it’s poison, and I hate myself for being so transparent. But my emotions are raw, powering through me and taking c
ontrol in place of logic and self-preservation.
“She means nothing.”
“Did you fuck her?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t fucked her in months.”
“So why is she here?”
He sighs, releasing my cheeks, and I instantly miss his touch. He scrubs his hands down his face, looking left and right. “We need to get back inside.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Oh no. He’s not deflecting. “Answer me. Why is she here?”
“You want the truth?”
“Always,” I whisper.
He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. A flurry of shivers whips up my arm at his touch, and I curl my hand around his, not wanting to let go. “I needed her to distract me from you.”
My brow puckers. “I don’t understand.”
He mutters under his breath, and conflict rages on his face. He moves closer again, lifting his free hand to my face. His fingers sweep across my cheek, igniting flames in their wake. “I’m trying to stay away from you, Firefly, but you make it so difficult.”
“Why do you want to stay away from me? Why are you fighting this?” His words tell me he feels the connection between us too. That I’m not the only one confused and struggling to make sense of it all.
He cups one side of my face. “I’m trying to keep you safe, but I’m not as strong as I thought.” He presses his forehead to mine and his minty breath washes over my face. I rest my hand on his waist, pulling him closer. Our bodies are flush, our heads touching, and it would take nothing to kiss him, but I won’t be the one to make that move. I don’t know what’s going on here, and I won’t line myself up for another rejection.
“Sierra,” he whispers, peering deep into my eyes. Torment is etched upon his face, as clear as day, and I want to wipe it away. My eyes drift to his mouth, and my breath stutters in my chest as unbridled longing surges through my veins. I want to kiss him so badly. But I’m still hurting over Saskia, and I can’t offer myself up to him like a lamb to the slaughter no matter how much I wish to throw caution to the wind.
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