Unraveled

Sienna’s POV

The video call had long since ended, yet Sienna found herself glaring at the black screen of her laptop as if the old man’s gruff voice might echo back at her through sheer force of will.

“Stubborn old fox,” she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Mildred Volkov. Russian. Late fifties — or was it early sixties? Either way, his presence was as commanding as a man half his age, and twice as obstinate.

Their negotiation had dragged on for nearly two hours, each point met with an exaggerated sigh or a clipped response from him. He wasn’t just difficult — he was calculated, almost toying with her by pushing back on the most basic clauses in the contract. It wasn’t about legalities. It was about control.

And she hated that he was winning.

Finally, just when Sienna thought she might actually hurl her pen at the screen, Mildred leaned back in his leather chair and spoke with that thick Russian accent, his words slow and deliberate.

“Miss Russo, these matters cannot be settled over a call. I need you here. In Germany.”

Her spine had stiffened at that.

“Mr. Volkov, surely we can finalize the remaining details electronically. I see no need for—”

“There are documents you need to review in person. Sensitive ones. This is not a request.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Sienna’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t part of the plan — she’d expected to close the deal remotely, not fly halfway across Europe at a moment’s notice.

But Volkov had left her no room to argue.

By the end of the call, the arrangements had already been made. His assistant would send her a first-class ticket to Berlin. The meeting was scheduled for the following evening, and there would be a conference hosted by his organization shortly after — something about strengthening “business alliances,” though she suspected it was more of a show of power than anything else.

Sienna closed her laptop and exhaled slowly. “Great,” she muttered.

Germany.

What could possibly go wrong?

——

The next day

Everything went wrong.

First, her Uber driver took the scenic route to the airport, claiming it was “shorter” — a blatant lie she didn’t have the energy to challenge.

Then, at security, she realized she’d left her phone charger in the car.

By the time she reached her gate, the final boarding call was blaring through the speakers. Sienna sprinted across the terminal in her pointed heels, clutching her passport and laptop bag like her life depended on it.

She barely made it.

Once on the plane, her seatmate — an overly chatty tourist — kept elbowing her armrest and snapping pictures of every cloud outside the window, all while loudly discussing his “influencer lifestyle.”

Sienna buried her head in her hands.

The moment the plane landed in Berlin, her bad luck followed.

There was a mix-up with her hotel reservation. Apparently, there were two hotels with nearly identical names — Hotel Berlinger and Berliner Hotel. Naturally, she ended up at the wrong one, wasting nearly an hour arguing with a clueless receptionist before finally realizing her mistake.

By the time she found the right hotel, it was already past seven.

Her hair clung to the nape of her neck from the stress, and her silk blouse was slightly rumpled. She didn’t look like the composed, powerful lawyer she’d set out to be this morning. She looked flustered, exhausted — and absolutely pissed.

The conference was starting in less than an hour. There was no time to fix herself up.

With a frustrated sigh, Sienna grabbed her suitcase and marched toward the elevator. She just needed to check in, drop her bags, and make it to the event as quickly as possible.

But fate wasn’t done with her yet.

As she turned the corner in the dimly lit hallway, her shoulder collided — hard — with someone else. Her suitcase tipped dangerously, and she stumbled back, cursing under her breath.

“Watch where you’re—”

Her words died on her lips.

Alessandro.

He stood there, dark and imposing, his signature scent — something musky and sinful — invading her senses. He was dressed in an open-collared black shirt and tailored slacks, a dangerous blend of casual and lethal. His jaw, all sharp angles and shadowed stubble, clenched as those steel-blue eyes bore into hers.

For a split second, neither of them spoke.

Sienna’s pulse hammered violently against her ribcage. She forgot about the hotel mix-up. Forgot about the conference. Forgot her own name.

Alessandro’s gaze flicked from her disheveled hair to her creased blouse, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. His lips curled — not quite a smirk, but something close, something darker.

“Sienna.”

Her name on his tongue was a weapon — smooth, deliberate, lethal.

She swallowed hard, willing herself to appear unaffected. “Alessandro,” she replied coolly, even though her voice wavered just slightly at the end.

She hated the way her body reacted to him — the sudden heat that bloomed low in her stomach, the way her skin prickled under his stare.

This was the last person she expected to see. The last man she wanted to feel anything for.

And yet, here they were — standing too close in a narrow hotel hallway, the air between them charged and crackling with a tension neither of them dared to name.