Page 83 of Dirty Game
"I'm Sienna," the woman continues, her smile predatory, showing too many teeth. "The one heactuallyloved."
I can't breathe.
The S.C. carved into his hip seems to burn in my mind, those raised letters I traced with my fingers just days ago. "You're..."
"The mother of his son. His first love. The one he let live when he should have killed me." She laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "And you're the virgin payment for daddy's debt. How... quaint. Tell me, did he at least wait a week before fucking you, or did he take what he bought right away?"
The cruelty is so casual, so precise.
She knows exactly where to cut to make it hurt most.
The boy stares at me with those familiar dark eyes, too serious for such a young face.
There's something hollow in his expression, something broken that no child should possess. "Are you my daddy's friend?"
The innocent question breaks something in my chest.
Before I can answer, before I can process that Varrick has a son, that this woman who betrayed him kept this secret, the temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
"Sienna." Varrick's voice is a death-given sound.
He stands behind me, and I can feel the violence radiating from him like heat from a forge.
His hand settles on my shoulder, possessive and protective at once, the first time he's touched me in days.
"Hello, lover," Sienna purrs, not even flinching at his tone. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. You always did like to leave your mark on things. Well, here's the mark you left on me." She pushes the boy forward slightly. "Time to meet your son."
The boy looks up at Varrick with wonder and fear. "Daddy?"
The word hangs in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
I watch Varrick's face, see him catalog every feature that marks this child as his.
The eyes are obvious, but there's more—the shape of his jaw, the way he holds himself even at five, a certain intensity that's purely Bane.
"His name is Dante," Sienna says, enjoying the chaos she's creating. "I thought about naming him Bastard, but that seemed too on the nose."
I can't stay. Can't breathe. Can't process this.
The room is too hot, too crowded, too full of eyes watching this drama unfold.
I stand on unsteady legs, the red dress suddenly feeling like it's suffocating me.
"Excuse me," I mumble. "I need air."
"Rosalynn—" Varrick's hand tightens on my shoulder, but I pull away.
"I just need a moment."
I flee, hearing him call my name, but I don't stop. Can't stop.
The crowd parts for me—or maybe for the expression on my face.
I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors as I run: pale skin, wild eyes, red dress like a wound against the golden ballroom.
The elevator is closing when I see him pushing through the crowd, see the desperation on his face, but the doors seal between us before he can reach me.
I hit the button for the roof with shaking fingers.
