“There should be rooms next to each other. We’ll figure it out.” He opens the door to slide out, and my stomach tightens.
Of course. I might not be sleeping in the same room as him, but he still married me. He’ll expect things. Things that aren’t compatible with a child in the same room.
I force the memory of Carmen’s story out of my head. It won’t help to think about it right now. But cold fear trickles down my spine, all the same.
Did I trade having to fuck five violent men for one?If this is the price I have to pay for mine and Adam’s safety, then I’ll pay it. But my stomach twists at the thought, that fear bleeding through my veins and leaving me shivering despite the warmth of the night as I try to ignore it and focus on unbuckling Adam.
“Stay close to me,” Damian warns. “Security won’t be aware you’re here, so you need to be with me at all times until I’ve updated Konstantin on the situation. You’ll be welcomed here, but it will take a minute to make everyone aware of your presence.”
I nod, swallowing hard as that fear that I felt a moment before intensifies.Of course. This isn't just a house—it's the headquarters of a criminal organization. The people inside aren't just staff and family members. There are dangerous people in there who live by rules I don't understand. Security for an even more dangerous man. His lackeys and soldiers. This is a world that I have no business in, that I’ve stumbled into—no, been dragged into—entirely against my will.
I try not to wake Adam as I get him unbuckled, but his eyes flutter open as I lift him from his car seat.
"Where are we, Mommy?" he asks sleepily, blinking up at the imposing façade of the mansion.
"This is where we're going to stay for a while, baby," I tell him, settling him on my hip as I slide out of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Damian has already grabbed our bags. Oddly, it surprises me. I hadn’t expected such a brutal man to be gentlemanly enough to carry my things. "It's like a really big house."
"It's huge," he breathes, his eyes wide with wonder instead of fear. At his age, everything is an adventure.
I follow Damian up the white, carved steps, up to the dark wooden front door. He enters without knocking—of course, he lives here—and I smell lemon and flowers as we step into the marble-floored entryway.
It’s huge. The foyer itself is half the size of my apartment, at least. It opens up into a wide space with high, vaulted ceilings, leading to numerous doors and hallways, a spiral staircase leading up to the next floor. I’m frozen, holding Adam on my hip, staring around my new surroundings. I should be the help in a place like this, a new hire to scrub the floors or wash dishes or something—but I’m Damian’swife. I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m too tired, exhausted, and overwhelmed, and I think Damian sees it on my face.
“Wait here,” he says firmly. “Righthere. I mean it. I’m going to go get the housekeeper.”
“You don’t need to wake her up,” I protest, but he shakes his head.
“Just wait here, Sienna.”
For once, I just obey. I don’t understand this world of servants andstaff and mansions, and I heed Damian’s warning about security not knowing who I am yet. I stand there, holding Adam’s sleepy weight against me, and a few minutes later Damian returns with an elderly woman, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. She’s wearing a housecoat and slippers, and she has the flustered look of someone who's been roused from sleep.
She looks at me, her lips pursing. “This is your wife?” She sounds confused, and I can imagine why—Damian presumably left the house earlier tonight as a single man, and is returning with a supposed wife and child.
“It’s a long story.” For the first time, I realize that Damian sounds exhausted too. “Mrs. Horvat, this is Sienna and Adam. Can you find two rooms close to mine for them? I’ll look into getting proper furnishings for the boy tomorrow, but for now, he can sleep in a normal bed. Right?” He looks at me, and I nod.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” He’s going to miss his racecar bed, but so far, he’s sleepy enough not to have protested the change in surroundings too much.
The apparent housekeeper—Mrs. Horvat—nods quickly, though I can see the questions in her eyes. "Of course, sir. Right away."
She leads us upstairs, and I have to fight to keep my mouth closed, to not gawk as we cross the marble floor to the spiraling mahogany staircase. The floor gleams, polished to a high shine, and a chandelier hangs overhead that probably cost more than my car, crystals throwing off light as it sways. Everything screams money and power—from the oil paintings lining the walls to the fresh flowers arranged in vases that are probably worth more than I make in a month in tips. This is old wealth, the kind that's been accumulated over generations through means I probably don't want to think about too closely.
This is the home of a Bratva boss. A man who probably kills without thinking, who cuts down anyone who gets in his way. And Damian—my new husband—works for him. Works closely enough with him that he could guarantee me the protection of a man thatpowerful. My stomach twists at the thought of what I’ve gotten myself—gottenus—into.
But what choice did I have?
"This way, please," Mrs. Horvat says as we reach the second-floor landing, motioning to the next set of stairs. Her voice is gentle, but I can see her studying Adam and me with obvious curiosity.
As we climb the stairs, I'm hyperaware of Damian's presence behind us, solid and intimidating even in this opulent setting. Despite the fatigue that he’s wearing instead of an expensive suit, he fits in here in a way that I can’t imagine I ever will. Until we walked through the front door, he was tense and focused, ready for danger to spring from any corner, but now he looks more at ease, if still aware and a little on edge.
I know his uneasiness is for a different reason, now.
The third floor is a maze of hallways lined with more artwork and lit by crystal sconces that cast warm light on rugs that look expensive enough to be real Persian rugs. Mrs. Horvat leads us down a corridor toward what must be the guest wing, her slippers whispering against the hardwood floors.
"Here," she says, stopping at a door about halfway down the hall. "This room should work well for the little one."
The guest room that she opens the door to looks like the nicest sort of hotel room, the kind that I’ve seen in pictures but never in person. It’s definitely a bedroom for an adult—king-sized bed, dark, gleaming wooden furniture, another of those expensive-looking rugs stretched across the wooden floor, long velvet drapes over wide bay windows. It’s not a room I’d feel comfortable leaving a toddler in for long, but if Damian’s instructions were followed, I’ll be right next door. I’ll hear if Adam cries, and he’s so sleepy that I don’t think he’ll wake up. I’ll make sure to get up early and check on him, to make sure nothing has gone wrong.
As exhausted as I am, I still don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. I don’t know how soon Damian is going toletme get to sleep—he married me tonight, and I expect that he’ll want a wedding night. Thethought makes me want to groan in mingled fear and exhaustion, but I shove it away, focusing on getting Adam settled.
