Siena’s POV

“You are unusually calm for someone who just saw an apartment blow up,” I said gripping the edge of my seat. My heart is still reeling from my seeing my apartment go up in flames. I couldn’t even cry. Everything just seems to be crashing down all at once.

Volkov on the other hand didn’t even blink. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even tighten his jaw. It was like what just happened hasn’t registered to his brain. Or maybe he sees things like this every day.

“Should we call the police? The fire department? Anyone?”

He took a corner fast enough to throw me against the door. “The fire department is already there. The rest is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?”

He turned to me briefly. “We’re playing a different game now, Siena. Civilian rules do not apply.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, pulling into a private garage underneath a marble high-rise, you’re not just Siena Moretti the sprinter anymore. You are Siena Moretti, the daughter of Enzo Moretti.”

I stared at him. “Don’t say my father’s name like you know him.”

He parked the car and cut the engine. The silence was loud.

“I don’t just know him”, he said. “I work for him.”

"Wait, what?" I stumbled after him. "You work for my father? Since when?!"

He held the elevator door open without turning. "Since you became a problem."

As we entered the elevator, I turned to him again. “You work for my father? You mean you know me personally? Who are you exactly?”

“Like I said before my name is Aleksandr “Sasha” Volkov, heir to the Russian Volkov family. You can call me Sasha. You must have heard of the relationship between your family and mine.”

Now it all became clear. The name Volkov rings a bell. They were the most powerful mafia family in Russia. Now, what I don’t understand is why my father thinks the almighty Volkov heir should be protecting me personally.

I was about to say more but the elevator arrived at the penthouse.

Just like his car, the space screamed luxury. It didn’t feel safe, at least to me. It felt controlled. I just know if I search nook and cranny I would find guns. I can’t believe I am going back to the life I wanted to escape from.

“This isn’t a safe house”, I said. “This is a cage.”

He tilted his head. "Then consider me your warden."

I explored the rooms on edge. Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms. A view of Milan that would make poets weep. But no windows opened. No balconies. No escape.

My phone buzzed.

It was a private number.

“You are making this harder than it should be Siena. We have told you, walk away or fall. Next time, it won’t be your apartment. It will be your legs.”

I dropped the phone. My heart beating so fast, I almost passed out.

Aleksandr was by my side instantly.

“What is it?” he asked.

I couldn’t speak. I just pointed at my phone with shaking hands.

He read it in silence, then pulled out his own phone and typed rapidly.

"We have to move up the timeline. We’re accelerating relocation. And get eyes on all of Siena’s public connections. Anyone she’s interacted with in the last week."

"You’re going to interrogate me now?"

"No. I’m going to protect you from the people you clearly don’t know are trying to kill you."

He walked to a glass panel that looked like a piece of art. With a swipe, it turned into a control hub—surveillance feeds, encrypted maps, biometric scans.

I stared. "What is this place?"

"A private asset. Yours now."

"Mine?"

He looked at me. "Your father anticipated this. You were never going to be just an athlete, Siena. You were born a target."

The weight of that hit me harder than the drug accusation.

I think it is high time I spoke to my father.

An hour later, I sat on the edge of the silk covered bed while Aleksandr scanned documents across the room.

“Why steroids?” I asked suddenly. “Why frame me for something so obvious?” “I mean, why didn’t they think of something more grievous, like murder or something?”

He didn’t look up. “Because it’s public. Visible. Emotional. Your career crashes. Your team distances itself and your sponsors drop you. They want to destroy you with the most important thing in your life. Slowly and surely.”

“So this was meant to humiliate me, not just end me.”

“Exactly.”

He walked toward me and dropped a folder on the bed. Inside were several photos, me at training, me at the airport, me walking into a pharmacy three days ago.

"That’s not me," I said.

"I know. But the footage is already circulating in certain circles. Give it another twenty-four hours and it’ll be on every sports outlet in the country."

I felt sick. "Someone cloned me or these are doctored."

"Or they hired someone who looks enough like you to ruin you."

I met his gaze. "And you think it’s connected to my father."

He didn’t answer me. Which meant yes.

I placed that call I have been postponing to my father.

Night fell hard and fast. The city outside turned gold, but inside, shadows grew long.

I curled up on the leather couch, exhausted but alert.

"Do you want something to eat?" Aleksandr asked.

"You cook too?"

"No. I just know how to order."

He handed me a tablet with menus.

"You act like this is all normal. Like explosions and threats are part of your day."

"Because they are."

He sat opposite me. Still. Calm. Watching.

"Why do you care?" I asked suddenly.

"Because I owe your father a debt."

"What kind of debt?"

He looked away. "The kind that only blood repays."

The air turned colder.

He stood abruptly. "I have a meeting downstairs. Stay in this suite. Don’t open the door for anyone but me."

"Including room service?"

"Especially room service."

He left without saying another word.

I fell asleep with the tablet in my hand.

When I woke up, the lights were off. The suite was quiet. But something was wrong.

A red envelope sat on the floor by the door.

My name written in perfect cursive.

I picked it up slowly.

Inside was a single photo.

My mother’s grave.

Freshly dug up.

A handwritten note beneath the photo read: “You’re next, Silverlegs.”