The Slap and the Parcel

|| Sienna Vance's POV ||

Heavy inked forearms locked around my waist, pulling me onto the dance floor until the air in my lungs turned thick and suffocating. Every time our bodies swayed to the tempo, the rolled-up cuffs of his dress shirt exposed the brutal tattoos creeping down his skin.

It was just a single song. Did he really have to twist my arm like that?

Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as I followed his lead—though calling it a lead was generous when it was clearly a command. He threw his name around like an absolute monarch, fully prepared to crush anyone who defied him. Being near him terrified the hell out of me, his sheer presence making it hard to draw a steady breath. Yet my father's company had been struggling for the past few years, and I couldn't risk tanking his livelihood just because I wasn't in the mood to play nice.

Bryska's "You Were In Love" drifted through the speakers, the slow, sultry melody casting a heavy romantic spell over the ballroom that felt completely wrong for us.

"Why are you doing this to me? Do we even know each other?" I mouthed, letting out a quiet breath of relief when a shift in the rhythm gave me an excuse to step back.

A wicked smile curved his lips as he tracked my movement with suffocating intensity. Before I could put real distance between us, his hands hauled me right back against his rock-hard chest, the dense muscle beneath his suit unmistakable. Moving his hips in time with mine, he brushed his words against my ear. "I take what catches my eye, pretty girl. It was only a dance, yet you turned me down... again."

My brows drew together. What did he mean by 'again'? We had literally just met tonight. Hadn't we?

I parted my lips to ask, only to catch the bitter, jealous glares coming from the women surrounding the floor. Just a few yards away stood Victoria, her face drained of color, while Preston stood beside her with his jaw clenched tight. A rush of pure, sweet vindication flooded my chest. Suddenly, dancing with Mr. Dante Di Marco didn't seem so terrible after all. Shoving my nerves aside, I threw my arms around his neck with deliberate passion. Surprise flickered across his gaze for half a second before he anchored me even tighter against his frame. His palms burned through the fabric at my waist, stirring something reckless and dark inside me.

How was it even legal for a man to be this terrifying and this magnetic all at once?

Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I stared straight into his dark, unreadable eyes. A low groan vibrated in his throat as a sly grin tugged at his mouth. "I like it when you play bold."

Suppressing an internal groan, I rolled my eyes. "This is just how I am. Can we wrap this up now? The whole room is staring."

He let out a low chuckle, arching an amused brow. "Wasn't that the whole point of your little show?"

My mouth fell slightly open. How the hell had he seen right through me? Had I made it that obvious for Preston's benefit?

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Vance," he murmured, lifting me slightly off the floor before setting me back on my heels. The sudden drop in his tone set off warning bells in my head, yet a dark curiosity kept me hooked on what this devil of a man was about to say.

Lifting my arms to match the final, fading notes of the track, I murmured back, "And what might that be? You already got the dance you demanded."

A dark laugh rumbled from his chest as he dragged me flush against him, guiding my thumbs to rest against his broad shoulders. "Become my mistress. Name your price, and it's yours."

Jolted as if I'd touched a live wire, I shoved his chest and stumbled back, staring at him in utter shock. That explained the sudden attention. It explained the ruthless blackmail. He was no different from the rest of the wealthy bastards in this city who treated models like high-end prostitutes waiting to be bought.

Watching that arrogant smirk stay plastered across his face, my temper snapped completely. Closing the gap between us in two furious strides, I swung my hand with everything I had, the sharp crack of my palm hitting his cheek echoing my disgust. "Fuck you!"

__________

|| Dante Di Marco's POV ||

"Breaking News: Rising runway star Sienna Vance slaps Dante Di Marco during high-society gala! Insiders left scrambling to uncover the feud between the pair!"

Gossip columns and news feeds were exploding with fresh headlines by the minute, stirring up a massive frenzy across the city. Staring at the screen, I replayed the events of the party in my head. Hours had passed since her palm connected with my face, yet the phantom sting still burned straight down to the bone.

"Don, do... do you want me to have the press team bury the story?" Enzo asked, his voice tight with nerves. After tearing half my office apart upon returning, I had fallen into a dead, suffocating silence. The crowd at the venue had witnessed a simple slap, but to me, it was unforgivable public disgrace at the hands of a woman. Don Dante Di Marco, struck across the face by a two-bit model in front of the entire country.

She was damn lucky she walked out of that ballroom breathing.

Putting a bullet between her eyes would have been the quickest way to correct her mistake, but death was far too easy. She needed to choke on the exact same humiliation she had served me tonight. Whatever initial fascination I had felt for her was dead and buried, replaced by a cold, permanent hatred.

"Leave it alone, Enzo. Soon enough, she'll be begging to do whatever I say," I muttered, pulling a cigarette from my pack and flicking my lighter. The shrink I'd been seeing lately was actually earning his keep; despite the rage boiling in my veins, I kept my voice dead even.

Enzo frowned, pressing his lips together before forcing the words out. "But Don... letting this circulate is going to damage your public standing."

A harsh, humorless laugh tore from my throat as I pivoted, leaning my back against the floor-to-ceiling glass. Thick gray smoke curled from the tip of my cigarette, blurring the city skyline in front of me. Letting out a derisive snort, I shook my head. "When have I ever relied on a clean reputation, Enzo? Sienna Vance laid a hand on me, and she's going to pay the price in full. Relax. Donovan is already out delivering her little present. All you need to do is sit tight and watch."

Dropping onto the leather sofa, I folded my arms across my chest to wait for Donovan's call. The very first time I laid eyes on her, I was ready to put her on a pedestal and treat her like royalty. Now? I was going to break her in as my personal whore, no better than the rest of the slaves.

_____________

|| Sienna Vance's POV ||

Curled up on my bed with my arms wrapped tight around my knees, I had nothing left in me after crying for hours. The digital clock on my nightstand read past two in the morning, yet sleep was impossible. For the first time in my life, my father had screamed at me that I was single-handedly wrecking his life and his company. The video and reports of me striking Dante at the gala had gone viral before I even made it home. My father had seen every word of it, and he was livid. Despite only recently expanding his empire into our state, Dante Di Marco held enough clout and ruthless power in the business world to bankrupt our family overnight without breaking a sweat.

I had royally screwed everything up. Why couldn't I have just kept my head down and handled him smartly? What possessed me to strike him in front of a room full of cameras and elites?

There was no undoing the damage I had caused tonight. My reckless temper hadn't just painted a target on my own back; it had dragged my father's entire life's work straight toward the guillotine.

How could I have been so unbearably stupid?

"Ma'am?" A soft rap sounded against the wood as Martha, our housekeeper, waited outside my door. Scrubbing the dampness from my cheeks, I tried to steady my voice. "Yes, come in."

Backing through the doorway, Martha nudged the door open with her hip, struggling to balance a massive wrapped box in her arms. It looked like a gift. Casting a sympathetic look toward my red-rimmed eyes, she stepped toward the bed. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, Ma'am, but a courier just dropped this parcel off addressed to you."

Frozen in place, my eyes darted back to the clock. Who on earth would have a package hand-delivered past two in the morning?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I thanked Martha and sent her back to bed once she set the heavy box down near my feet. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I checked the exterior for a return address or a card, finding nothing. With my heart hammering against my ribs, I tore through the wrapping paper and lifted the lid. Resting at the bottom of the box was a thick stack of glossy photographs.

Gathering them into my trembling hands, I held them up to the dim light. A ragged gasp tore from my throat as fresh, hot tears spilled over my lashes, my vision blurring as I stared blankly at the words scrawled across the top photo.

"Like My Gift, Pretty Girl?"