Page 78 of Silent Schemes
It’s nothing. Bleeding is good. It reminds you you’re alive.
Dominic tries to speak, but Sienna silences him with a glare.
I say, “Money. Now.”
He fumbles with his other hand, reaches under the table, and produces a battered briefcase. I open it, check the stacks.
Hundreds of bills, real, counted and bundled.
I hand it to Sienna, who scans the contents, then snaps the case shut.
I look at the carnage: three Rosetti men, all in various stages of pain and humiliation.
Sienna, not even breathing hard, one thin line of blood seeping down her hip.
I nod at her. “Nice.”
She shrugs, then limps once, tiny but real.
I fight the urge to ask her if she’s okay.
That’ll only show her she’s under my skin and right now we have a job to finish.
Dominic croaks, “You’re fucking animals.”
Sienna leans in, voice honeyed and flat. “We’re just the accountants.”
We leave them there. No cleanup. No warning. Message delivered.
Outside, I open the passenger door to the Charger.
Sienna slides in, pressing a wadded-up rag to her hip.
I drive.
We don’t talk until the city lights blur behind us, until the engine noise drowns out the pain.
She says, “You could have let me finish all three.”
I shake my head, smile. “That’s not how it works.”
She stares out the window, eyes sharp. “You’re still bleeding.”
“So are you.”
She grins, flashing her teeth, then looks away. “Next time, let me take point.”
I don’t say yes. I don’t have to.
She already knows.
The drive to the penthouse is silent.
Sienna is still holding the rag to her side and thankfully, the blood is slowing.
Must not have been that deep,
Upstairs, my private elevator opens right into the main room.
