64
1197 Words
CHAPTER 64 — BLOOD FOR BLOOD
The call came at 2:14 a.m.
Sienna woke before the phone finished vibrating.
That alone told her everything.
Damien answered first, voice sharp, already armored. She watched his expression change in stages—confusion, then stillness, then something darker than rage.
When he hung up, he didn’t look at her immediately.
“Say it,” she said.
He exhaled once. “Dante moved.”
Her chest tightened. “Where?”
Damien finally met her eyes. “The hospital.”
The room went cold.
“No,” Sienna said. “He wouldn’t—”
“He would,” Damien cut in. “And he did.”
⸻
St. Catherine’s private wing smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Security was everywhere—Westwood men, armed and tense—but they were too late. That was obvious the moment Sienna saw the shattered glass at the end of the corridor.
A nurse stood shaking, blood on her sleeve that wasn’t hers.
Damien grabbed her arm. “Who was taken?”
The nurse swallowed. “She—she was discharged under family authority. The paperwork—”
Sienna didn’t wait.
She was already running.
⸻
The room was empty.
The bed stripped.
The monitors silent.
The chair by the window overturned.
Only one thing remained.
A phone.
Placed carefully on the pillow.
Sienna picked it up with trembling fingers. The screen lit immediately—no passcode.
A video began to play.
Annabelle Ross’s face filled the screen.
Her mother.
Alive.
Breathing.
Bruised.
The room spun.
“Hello, Sienna,” Dante’s voice purred from off-screen. Dante Westwood “Did you like your first lesson in power?”
The camera tilted. Annabelle was bound to a chair, wrists raw, lip split.
“You took something from me,” Dante continued. “So I took something from you.”
Sienna couldn’t hear her own breathing.
Damien’s hand closed around her shoulder. “He’s bluffing.”
The video kept playing.
Annabelle lifted her head weakly. “Sienna,” she whispered. “Don’t—”
The screen went black.
A message appeared.
ONE HOUR. COME ALONE.
Coordinates followed.
Sienna dropped the phone.
“No,” Damien said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“He has my mother.”
“We don’t even know if—”
“He does,” she snapped, turning on him. “I know.”
Damien’s jaw clenched. “Then we go together.”
“He said alone.”
“He doesn’t get to make rules.”
She grabbed Damien’s hands, forcing him to look at her. “This is exactly what he wants. You there. Guns. Chaos.”
“And you walking into a trap is better?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Because he wants me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Damien searched her face—fear, resolve, something feral underneath.
“You won’t survive this,” he said quietly.
She smiled, sad and sharp. “I already crossed that bridge when I took down S. Westwood.”
S. Westwood
He swore under his breath.
“If you go,” he said, “I will burn the world to get you back.”
She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. “Then make sure there’s still a world left.”
⸻
The warehouse stood alone at the edge of the city, rusted and silent, moonlight cutting through broken windows.
Sienna walked in unarmed.
That was part of the message.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Lights flickered on.
Dante stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly.
“Beautiful,” he said. “No entourage. No armor. Just you.”
“Where is she?”
He smiled. “Straight to business. I admire that.”
Annabelle was wheeled forward then, chair scraping against concrete.
Alive.
Barely.
Sienna’s knees nearly buckled, but she didn’t move.
“You hurt her,” Sienna said, voice steady despite the storm inside her.
“I kept her alive,” Dante corrected. “That’s mercy, in my book.”
“You want me,” Sienna said. “Let her go.”
Dante circled her slowly. “You really think this is about leverage?”
He stopped in front of her.
“This is about balance.”
He gestured sharply.
Two men grabbed Annabelle’s chair, positioning her near the edge of an open pit in the floor—dark, deep.
Sienna’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“One push,” Dante said lightly. “She disappears.”
“Dante,” Sienna said, voice breaking for the first time. “This is between us.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Which is why she’s the price.”
He leaned closer. “You humiliated me. You erased a Westwood. You made them fear you.”
She didn’t deny it.
“So now,” he continued, “you choose.”
He raised a hand.
One of his men stepped forward—placing a gun on a nearby crate.
“Kill him,” Dante said.
Sienna stared at the man—a stranger. Young. Terrified.
“Do it,” Dante repeated. “Pull the trigger. Prove you belong in this world.”
Her hands shook.
“If I don’t?”
Dante smiled.
The chair creaked as it tilted slightly toward the pit.
Annabelle whimpered.
Sienna’s vision blurred.
This was it.
The stain Damien warned her about.
She walked to the crate.
Picked up the gun.
The man sobbed quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Sienna whispered.
She pulled the trigger.
The sound cracked through the warehouse like a bone snapping.
The man collapsed.
Dead.
Sienna stood frozen, gun still raised, ears ringing.
Dante laughed.
“There she is,” he said with delight. “The woman I knew you were.”
Sienna turned slowly, eyes empty.
“Let her go.”
Dante waved a hand. The chair was pulled back from the pit.
Annabelle was wheeled away, unconscious but alive.
Sienna dropped the gun.
Her hands were covered in blood.
Dante stepped closer. “Now you understand me.”
She looked at him, truly looked.
And smiled.
“No,” she said softly. “Now I understand how to kill you.”
The lights went out.
Gunfire erupted.
Westwood men stormed the building.
Damien.
He moved like a storm—bullets, orders, blood.
Dante cursed, backing away. “You cheated.”
Sienna grabbed a fallen knife, lunging.
She didn’t reach him.
An explosion tore through the far wall.
Smoke. Screams.
By the time the chaos cleared—
Dante was gone.
⸻
Sienna sat on the floor afterward, knees pulled to her chest.
Damien knelt in front of her, blood on his hands that wasn’t hers.
“You’re safe,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
“I’m here,” he said again.
She finally looked up at him.
“I killed someone.”
Damien didn’t deny it. He pulled her into his chest.
“And you saved your mother.”
Her shoulders shook.
Above them, sirens wailed. The world kept spinning.
But something fundamental had shifted.
Sienna was no longer standing at the edge of darkness.
She was inside it now.
And Dante knew it.
Because war wasn’t coming anymore.
It had already begun.
- Writer
