Siena’s POV

My heart pounds really fast as I shove clothes into a duffel, hands shaking. Kross. The name burns in my brain, a ghost from Aleksandr’s past now clawing its way into my present. The Penthouse, once a cage, now feels like a trap about to snap shut.

“Who the hell is Kross?” I snap, zipping the bag.

Aleksandr’s jaw tightens, eyes scanning the room like a predator. “Someone who shouldn’t be alive.”

“That’s not an answer.” I toss the bag over my shoulder, glaring.

He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Move. Now.”

I yank free, planting my feet. “No. You don’t get to drag me around like a doll. Tell me who he is!”

His eyes flash, a storm of ice and fire. “Valentin Kross. Ex-KGB. Ex-ally. He betrayed my family and yours, nearly burned us to the ground. Thought he died in a prison fire. Clearly, I was wrong.”

My stomach twists. “And he’s got my father’s phone?”

He nods, already moving. “Which means we are already out of time.”

He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the elevator. His grip is firm, too firm, and a spark jolts through me despite the fear. I hate how his touch makes my pulse race, how his cold blue eyes make me want to lean closer even now.

The elevator doors dinged as we entered. We step inside, and the doors close with a hiss. His body’s too close in the cramped space, his cologne sharp and expensive. I swallow hard, trying to focus.

“You know? I feel like you’re not telling me everything. What does this guy have against my family and yours?”

“You don’t need everything.”

His eyes are on the floor numbers, but his free hand hovers near his gun, ready.

“Bullshit. If I’m a target, I deserve to know why.” My voice is sharp, cutting through the tension.

He glances at me, eyes narrowing, and a flicker of something dangerous, maybe desire, flashing in those pale blue eyes. “You’re a target because of your last name. That’s enough for now.”

Anger flares, hot and reckless. “Don’t treat me like a child, Sasha.”

His head snaps to me at the nickname. For a split second, his guard drops, and I see it, hunger, raw and unguarded. Then it’s gone. “Don’t push me, Siena. Not now.”

The elevator opens to a dim underground garage, the Maybach gleaming like a predator under flickering lights. He shoves me toward the passenger side, his hand lingering on my lower back. My skin burns where he touches, and I curse my body for wanting him when everything’s falling apart.

“Get in,” he orders, sliding into the driver’s seat.

I climb in, the leather cool against my thighs. The engine roars, and we peel out, tires screaming. Milan blurs past, crowds, oblivious to the war I’m in.

“Why does Kross have my father’s phone?” I ask, gripping the armrest as he swerves through traffic.

His jaw clenches. “He’s sending a message.”

“What message?”

“That he’s back. And he wants blood.”

“Whose? Mine? Yours? My father’s?” My voice cracks, fear and frustration tangling.

He doesn’t answer, just floors it. The car surges, pinning me to the seat. His silence is a knife, twisting deeper than any threat.

We hit a private airstrip, rain slicking the tarmac. A jet hums, ready to go. Aleksandr kills the engine, turning to me, his face half-shadowed. “Stay close. Don’t talk to anyone.” His voice is low, commanding, but there’s an edge, like he’s fighting something deeper than Kross.

I nod, throat tight. We step out, the rain stinging my skin. A greying man in a black suit approaches, umbrella in hand, a scar slicing his eyebrow. “Volkov,” he says, voice rough. “Jet’s ready. But we’ve got trouble.”

Aleksandr’s hand tightens on his gun. “What?”

“Kross got a tip. Two cars tailed us from the garage.”

My stomach lurches. “What does that mean?” I step closer to Aleksandr, my shoulder brushing his arm. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I hate how much I want to lean into him.

The man, Ivan, glances at me. “It means we’ve got company.”

Aleksandr curses, scanning the darkness. “Get her on the jet, Ivan. Now.”

Ivan grabs my arm, pulling me towards the plane. I twist, looking back at Aleksandr. “What about you?”

“I’ll handle it.” His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see worry, maybe for me and that makes my chest ache.

“Don’t die,” I say, the words slipping out, raw and desperate.

He smirks, but it’s strained. “Not planning to, princess.”

Ivan yanks me up the jet’s stairs. Inside, it’s all cream leather and polished wood, but I’m too scared to care. Gunshots crack outside, sharp and relentless. My breath catches. Aleksandr.

The jet takes off, Milan shrinking below. I’m safe, but he’s not. And the thought of him bleeding out on that tarmac claws at my heart.

We arrive in Zurich and Ivan took me to a spotlessly clean safe house, all glass and steel, cold as a morgue. I’m pacing, nerves frayed. Ivan’s outside, yelling into a phone. No word from Aleksandr. My phone’s dead, those were his orders, but I’m losing it.

The door slams open. Aleksandr stumbles in, soaked in rain and blood, his suit torn. A gash on his arm drips red onto the floor. My heart stops. I rush to him, stopping short when I see the pain in his eyes.

“You’re hurt,” I say, my voice breaking.

“It’s nothing.” He brushes past, heading for a cabinet. He grabs a first-aid kit, movements sharp despite the blood.

“Nothing? You’re bleeding everywhere!” I grab his arm, ignoring his wince. “Let me help.”

He freezes, eyes locking on mine. The air crackles, thick with something I can’t name. “You don’t need to play nurse, Siena.”

“I’m not playing.” I rip open the kit, grabbing gauze and antiseptic. My hands tremble as I clean the wound, his skin hot under my fingers. He’s too close, his breath ragged, and my body betrays me, heart racing, heat pooling low. His gaze burns into me, and I can’t look away.

“You’re reckless,” I mutter, focusing on the bandage to keep from drowning in his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” he says, voice low, rough. “Running toward me instead of away.”

I glance up, and he’s closer now, his face inches from mine. The space between us vanishes. His hand brushes my cheek, and I lean into it, my breath hitching. “Sasha…”

He kisses me, hard and sudden, all hunger and desperation. I kiss him back, just as fierce, my hands fisting his torn jacket. His lips taste of rain and blood, and I want more. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me against him, my body molding to his. Heat explodes between us, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, a low groan in his throat.

I tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He breaks the kiss, eyes dark with want. “Siena, this is a mistake.”

“Then make it,” I whisper, pulling him back. His hands slip under my shirt, rough and warm, igniting every nerve. I arch into him, my legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts me onto the counter. His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing my skin, and I gasp, my nails raking his back. The world narrows to his touch, his breath, the way he says my name like it’s a curse and a prayer.

He pulls back, panting, his forehead against mine. “We can’t. Not now.”

“Why not?” My voice is desperate, my hands still clutching him.

“Because I’ll ruin you.” His words are raw, pained, and they cut deeper than I expect.

Before I could respond, the door slammed open. We break apart, breathless. Ivan stands there, face grim, holding a phone.

“We’ve got a problem,” he says. “Kross sent a message.”

Aleksandr’s on his feet, all business again. “Show me.”

Ivan plays a video. My father, Enzo, tied to a chair, blood streaming down his face. A voice, Kross, laughs off-screen. “You thought you could run, Volkov? You thought you could hide her?”

My knees buckle. Aleksandr catches me, his arm strong around my waist. “What does he want?” I whisper.

Ivan’s eyes flick to me. “You, Siena. Dead or alive.”

Aleksandr’s grip tightens, his voice a growl. “He’ll have to kill me first.”

The video loops, my father’s battered face searing into my mind. But then I see it—a shadow in the background, moving fast. A figure. Familiar.

It’s Rico. My ex. Smirking, holding a knife. He’s with Kross.