The sound of Julian's voice screaming in the hallway sent a jolt of pure ice through Sienna's veins.

She tried to sit up, but the weight of Dante's body and the cold bite of the steel around her wrists pinned her to the mattress.

"Dante, please," she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. "You have to hide me. If he sees me like this, he'll kill you. Or himself."

Dante didn't flinch. He stayed hovered over her, his bare chest inches from hers, watching the bedroom door with the calm of a man who held every single card in the deck.

The banging on the outer door grew louder, rhythmic and violent.

"Moretti! Open this damn door! I know she's here!" Julian roared.

Dante looked down at Sienna. A slow, cruel smirk spread across his face. He reached up and toyed with a strand of her hair, winding it tightly around his finger.

"He sounds upset," Dante whispered. "Maybe I should let him in. We can all have a chat about your new job description."

"You wouldn't," she gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt. "The deal. You said the deal was for seven nights of silence."

"I said surrender, Sienna. Part of surrender is trusting that I won't let your idiot brother ruin my evening."

Dante rolled off the bed. He didn't bother putting on a shirt. He just tightened the silk belt of his robe and walked toward the bedroom door.

Sienna struggled against the cuffs, the metal clicking loudly in the quiet room.

The silk sheets felt like slippery water beneath her, offering no leverage.

"Stay still," Dante commanded over his shoulder. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a cold order that made her freeze.

He cracked the bedroom door just an inch, then walked out into the main living area. Sienna held her breath, straining to hear over the blood rushing in her ears.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up at my home, Julian," Dante's voice boomed from the other room. It was smooth, dangerous, and completely devoid of the heat he had just shown her.

"Where is she?" Julian's voice was closer now. "She left a note saying she was working for you. I'm not stupid, Dante. I know how you look at her. If you've touched her, I'll burn this whole building down."

Sienna winced. Julian was always a better talker than a fighter. He was blustering because he was scared, and Dante knew it.

"She's working," Dante replied. Sienna could almost hear the shrug in his voice. "We're going over the ledgers.

The ones you cooked so badly even a child could spot the fraud. She's in the office downstairs with my legal team.

Why? Did you want to join them? I'm sure the DA would love to hear your side of the story tonight."

The silence that followed was thick. Julian was a coward at heart. Mentioning the law was the fastest way to shut him up.

"I don't believe you," Julian muttered, though the fire was gone from his tone.

"Then go downstairs and check. Or leave. Because if you bang on my door one more time, I won't call the police. I'll call the debt collectors I bought your markers from.

You owe me more than just ten million, Julian. I own your car, your house, and the very air you're breathing."

Sienna felt a wave of nausea. Dante wasn't just a rival. He was a predator who had been circling her family for years, snapping up their debts like scraps of meat.

He hadn't just waited for this moment; he had engineered it.

A few seconds later, she heard the heavy thud of the front door closing.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Dante walked back into the bedroom. He didn't look triumphant. He looked bored, as if dealing with her brother was a chore he had finally finished.

He walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at her. Sienna was still trapped, her arms beginning to ache from the awkward position behind her back.

"He's gone," Dante said.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes stinging.

"Don't thank me yet." He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper and a key.

He didn't unlock the cuffs. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the paper. It was the contract she had signed earlier, but there were handwritten notes in the margins that she hadn't noticed before.

"We missed a few clauses in the office," he said. "The technicalities of your stay."

"I already signed it, Dante. What more do you want?"

"I want you to understand the stakes." He leaned over her, the scent of him filling her senses again. He held the paper in front of her face. "Read Clause Four. Aloud."

Sienna blinked, trying to focus on the elegant, sharp handwriting. Her voice trembled as she read.

"During the term of the seven nights, the subject, that's me shall not wear any clothing unless specifically permitted by the Master of the House.

Any breach of this rule results in an additional night added to the sentence."

She looked at him, horrified. "You can't be serious. I have to stay... like this? For a week?"

"Clothing is a shield, Sienna. It's a way to hide. I don't want you hiding. I want you exposed. I want you to remember exactly why you're here every second of the day."

He moved the paper lower. "Read Clause Seven."

Sienna swallowed hard. The room felt ten degrees hotter. "The subject shall attend to all physical needs of the Master, including but not limited to meals, grooming, and... and intimate requirements, regardless of the time or location within the residence."

"In simpler terms," Dante whispered, his lips grazing her earlobe, "you are my shadow. If I'm in the shower, you're there. If I'm eating, you're serving.

And if I wake up in the middle of the night wanting to feel you scream my name, you will be ready."

He finally reached around and unlocked the handcuffs. The relief was instant, but as Sienna rubbed her sore wrists, she realized she wasn't free. She was just on a longer leash.

"Go to the bathroom," Dante said, standing up. "Wash the scent of the city off you. There's a robe in there. Use it for now. We start Night One properly in ten minutes."

Sienna didn't argue. She scrambled off the bed, her legs feeling like jelly, and bolted for the ensuite bathroom. It was a palace of marble and gold. She locked the door and leaned against it, gasping for air.

She caught her reflection in the massive mirror. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wide and dark with a mix of terror and something else.

Something shameful. She looked at her wrists. The red marks from the cuffs were already fading, but the feeling of being owned was sinking into her skin.

She turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the room. She scrubbed her skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the feeling of Dante's eyes.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. She saw the way he looked at her, not like a businessman, but like a man who had been starving and finally found a feast.

She put on the robe he had mentioned. It was black silk, far too big for her, and it smelled exactly like him. It felt like a brand.

When she walked back into the bedroom, the lights were even lower. Dante was sitting in a leather armchair by the window, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He watched her cross the room, his gaze heavy and intentional.

"Come here," he said.

She walked over, stopping a few feet away.

"Closer."

She moved until her knees were brushing his. He reached out and pulled her between his legs, his hands resting heavily on her hips.

"You're shaking," he noted.

"I've never done anything like this, Dante. I'm not... I'm not a professional."

"I know what you are, Sienna. You're a girl who has spent her life being protected by a father who didn't know his own son was a snake.

You're a girl who thinks she can sacrifice herself and walk away with her heart intact."

He stood up, forcing her to take a step back. He was so much larger than her, a wall of muscle and intent.

"But you won't walk away the same," he promised. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember Julian's name. You'll only remember how it felt to belong to me."

He reached for the belt of her robe, his fingers nimble and quick. Before she could protest, the silk fell open. The cool air hit her skin, making her shiver.

"Tonight is about discovery," he whispered. He picked up a silk tie from the dresser, a deep, blood red. "I want to see how much you can handle before you beg me to stop. Or beg me to continue."

He moved her toward the bed again, but this time, he didn't use the cuffs. He sat her down on the edge and knelt between her legs.

The position was so intimate, so raw, that Sienna felt a sob catch in her throat.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She looked down at him. In the dim light, he looked like a fallen angel. Beautiful, dark, and utterly ruinous.

"You have a choice, Sienna. You can fight me for the next seven nights and make this a misery for both of us. Or you can let go.

You can admit that you've wanted this since the night of your twenty-first birthday gala, when I caught you staring at me in the garden."

Sienna's heart stopped. She remembered that night. She had been hiding from a boring suitor, and she had seen Dante standing by the fountain. He had looked so lonely and so powerful all at once.

Their eyes had met for a split second, and she had felt a pull so strong it had terrified her. She had run away.

"I didn't," she lied, her voice cracking.

"Liar."

He leaned forward, his mouth inches from hers. "I'm going to make you admit it. Before the sun comes up, you're going to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

He started to move, his hands exploring her with a slow, agonizing precision that made her head light. Every touch was a question. Every gasp she let out was an answer.

But just as the tension reached a breaking point, just as Sienna was about to lose herself in the sensation, a loud electronic chirp echoed through the room.

Dante froze. He looked at his phone on the nightstand. It was a secure line. Only three people had the number.

He cursed under his breath and reached for it. He swiped the screen, his face turning from heat to ice in a fraction of a second.

"What?" he snapped into the phone.

He listened for a moment, his grip tightening on the device until his knuckles turned white. He looked at Sienna, but he wasn't seeing her anymore. He was seeing a ghost.

"Where?" Dante asked, his voice a low hiss. "Ensure the perimeter is locked down. Don't let him leave the city. If he breathes a word to the press, kill the deal."

He hung up and stood, the erotic tension in the room evaporating instantly, replaced by a thick, suffocating dread.

"What is it?" Sienna asked, pulling the robe shut. "Is it Julian?"

Dante didn't answer. He was already crossing the room, throwing on a shirt with frantic energy.

"Stay here," he said, his voice sounding like a blade. "Don't leave this room. Don't answer the door. If you step foot outside this penthouse, the deal is dead and your brother is a marked man."

"Dante, wait! Tell me what's happening!"

He stopped at the door, looking back at her. For the first time, she saw a crack in the Ice King's mask. He looked haunted.

"The man who killed my father just got out of prison," he said. "And he's heading straight for your brother's office."

Before she could process the words, he was gone, the heavy bedroom door clicking shut and locking from the outside.

Sienna sat in the middle of the massive bed, shivering in the dark. She was a prisoner in a golden cage, and the war outside was just beginning.

"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.

"A file? What are you talking about, Julian? What file could be worth your life?"

Sienna knelt in the glass shards of their living room, ignoring the sting in her knees. She grabbed Julian by his shoulders, shaking him. He looked like a shell of the brother she used to idolize.

The blood from his nose had stained his white designer shirt, a pathetic contrast to the arrogance he usually wore like armor.

"The Moretti acquisition papers," Julian wheezed, his eyes darting to the hallway as if the ghost was still there. "It's not just business, Sienna. It's evidence.

It's the proof that our father didn't just cause that accident. He planned it. And Dante has the original documents.

If that man, the one who just got out gets his hands on them, he's going to use them to bury us all. Not just Dante. Us."

Sienna felt the world tilt. Her father, the man who had tucked her in and called her his princess, was a murderer? She wanted to scream that Julian was lying, but the terror in his voice was too real.

"Who was he, Julian? The man who was here?"

"Silas," Julian whispered. "He was the driver. He took the fall for Dad fifteen years ago. He wants his payout, or he wants blood.

He told me if I didn't get him that file from Dante's penthouse by tonight, he'd send a copy of the secondary ledger to the FBI. We'll lose everything, Sienna. The house, the name, our freedom."

The weight of it crashed down on her. She had to go back to the lion's den, but not just to save Julian from a lawsuit. She had to become a thief.

"I have to go," Sienna said, standing up. Her legs were trembling. "Dante's car is downstairs. He gave me three hours."

"Sienna, wait!" Julian grabbed her hand, his fingers sticky with blood. "He's taking you to the Starlight Gala tonight, isn't he? Every big name in the city will be there. Use that.

Find his keys. Find the safe. If you don't, we're dead."

Sienna pulled her hand away, a flash of pure loathing for her brother crossing her face.

"You're asking me to betray the only man who is actually telling me the truth, even if that truth is ugly. I'm doing this for Dad. Not for you."

She packed her things in a blur. She felt like a ghost walking through her own apartment. By the time she got back down to the black sedan, the driver didn't even look at her. He just held the door open.

When she arrived back at the penthouse, the atmosphere had shifted. Dante wasn't there, but a team of stylists was waiting in the foyer.

They moved like silent machines, whisking her away to a dressing room she hadn't Forseen before.

two hours, they poked and prodded. They painted her face into a mask of cold, high-society perfection.

They dressed her in a gown of midnight blue silk that clung to every curve, with a slit that went all the way up her thigh.

It was a dress meant to be noticed. It was a dress meant to say: I belong to the man on whose arm I'm standing.

Dante entered the room just as the stylists were finishing. He was in a black tuxedo that made him look like a lethal weapon.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes traveling slowly from her heels to her throat, where a diamond necklace sparked like ice.

"Leave us," he commanded.

The stylists vanished. Dante walked toward her, the heavy click of his dress shoes the only sound. He stopped behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders. His skin was hot against her cold flesh.

"You look like a Blackwood tonight," he murmured. "High. Mighty. Untouchable."

"Is that why you're taking me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos in her mind. "To show the world you've finally tamed the princess?"

"I'm taking you because I want everyone to see what I've won," he said. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"And because I want to see how you handle the whispers. Tonight, they won't see a business rival. They'll see my mistress."

Mistress. The word stung, but Sienna didn't flinch. She had a job to do.

The gala was a blur of flashing lights and expensive champagne. The moment they stepped out of the limousine, the cameras went wild. Sienna kept her head high, her hand resting on Dante's forearm.

She could feel the stares of the women and the judgmental glares of the men who used to call her father a friend.

They walked into the ballroom, and the music seemed to dip for a second. The scandal was already spreading.

"Stay close," Dante whispered, his grip on her waist tightening. "And don't speak to anyone unless I'm standing there."

For an hour, she played the part. She smiled when she had to and stood silently while Dante spoke to investors. But her eyes were constantly searching.

She looked for a key, a thumbprint scanner, anything that might lead her to the file Julian described.

Then, she saw him.

Across the room, standing near the balcony, was a man with a jagged scar running down his neck. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo.

He was in a cheap suit that didn't fit, and he was staring straight at her.

Silas.

Her heart skipped a beat. He raised a glass to her, a mocking salute.

"I need to go to the powder room," Sienna whispered to Dante.

Dante followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Silas. The tension in his body became a living thing.

"Five minutes, Sienna. If you aren't back, I'm coming in to get you."

She didn't wait. She wove through the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't go to the powder room.

She doubled back through a service hallway, hoping to find a quiet place to breathe, to think.

But she wasn't alone.

A hand gripped her arm and pulled her into a darkened alcove behind a velvet curtain. She started to scream, but a rough palm slammed over her mouth.

"Easy, princess," Silas hissed. His breath smelled like stale tobacco. "I told your brother the deal. Do you have it?"

Sienna struggled, her muffled cries dying against his hand.

"Dante has it on him," Silas whispered, his face inches from hers. "He keeps a small drive in his inner jacket pocket.

Get it tonight. When he's distracted. When he's... busy with you. If I don't have it by 2 AM, I go to the feds."

He released her, disappearing back into the shadows of the service hallway before she could even catch her breath.

Sienna stood there, shaking. She had to steal from Dante while he was touching her. The thought made her feel physically ill.

She smoothed her dress and walked back into the ballroom. Dante was waiting by the door, his face a mask of fury. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"What did he say to you?" Dante demanded.

"Nothing. He just... he just looked at me," she lied.

"Don't lie to me, Sienna. I saw you disappear." He pulled her toward a private exit. "We're leaving. Now."

The ride back to the penthouse was silent and suffocating. Dante was radiating a dark, violent energy.

The moment the elevator doors opened into his home, he threw his jacket onto the sofa and turned on her.

"You think you can play both sides?" he roared. "You think I don't know that Silas went to see Julian today? I have eyes everywhere, Sienna. Did he tell you to kill me? Or just rob me?"

"He told me the truth!" she shouted back, her voice cracking. "He told me my father killed your father! Why didn't you just tell me? Why play these games?"

Dante stepped into her space, his chest heaving. "Because I wanted you to find out when it was too late to turn back! I wanted you to realize that your whole life is built on a lie!"

He grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. The anger between them was so thick it felt like electricity.

"Night Two hasn't even started," he rasped, his eyes searching hers. "And you're already trying to betray me. Do you know what I do to traitors, Sienna?"

"I don't care," she whispered, though her heart was racing for a different reason. The drive was in his jacket. On the sofa. Just ten feet away.

"You will care," he promised.

He picked her up, ignoring her half-hearted protests, and carried her toward the bedroom.

He slammed the door shut with his foot and pressed her against it. His hands were everywhere, frantic and possessive.

"I should throw you out," he muttered against her lips. "I should let Silas have you. But I can't. I can't let anyone else touch what's mine."

He began to kiss her, a punishing, desperate thing that left her breathless. Sienna felt the conflict tearing her apart. She needed to get to that jacket.

She needed to save her family. But as Dante's hands found the zipper of her dress, her body betrayed her again. The heat he sparked in her was more addictive than any drug.

She reached out, her fingers fumbling with his shirt, trying to get him to lose his focus.

"Dante," she moaned, her head falling back.

He lifted her, her legs locking around his waist. He walked them toward the bed, but as he passed the sofa, Sienna reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the fabric of his discarded tuxedo jacket.

Just an inch. She just needed an inch.

Her fingertips touched the cold metal of a USB drive in the pocket.

"What are you doing?" Dante whispered, his voice suddenly sharp.

He stopped moving. He looked from her face to her arm, which was stretched out behind him.

Before she could pull back, he dropped her onto the sofa. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the drive she had been reaching for.

He held it up between them, a dark, mocking glint in his eyes.

"Looking for this?"

Sienna froze. "I... I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain." Dante snapped the drive in half with one hand, the plastic crunching in the quiet room.

"That was a decoy, Sienna. I knew Silas would talk to you. I wanted to see if you'd choose me, or the man who helped murder my father."

He stood over her, his silhouette blocking out the light. He looked like the monster she had always feared, but there was a deep, raw hurt in his eyes that he couldn't hide.

"You failed the test," he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "And now, Night Two is going to be very, very different."

He reached for a silk tie on the side table, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tonight, we don't play. Tonight, you learn what happens when you try to steal from the devil."

The phone on the table rang. It was her father's private line. The one he only used for emergencies.

Dante looked at the phone, then at Sienna.

"Pick it up," he commanded. "Let's see what else your family has to lose tonight."