Page 24 of Bratva Ruin

She freezes. “It was an accident.”

Her calling me that hits harder than any bullet I’ve ever taken.

“Didn’t sound like one.”

Color rises in her cheeks. She twists the cap off harder than she needs to.

“Who did this?” she asks quietly.

“You already know, princess.”

Her honey eyes flick up to mine. “No…”

“Excuse me?” I see her jaw tick before she begins unraveling gauze. “You didn’t think he exiled me and then just let me come back, did you? That’s what exile is.”

Sienna is quiet for a beat before she says, “You need to end this before it kills you, Ben. You need to sit down and talk?—”

She calls me Ben again, and I feel it in places I shouldn’t.

“He tried to end me tonight, Sienna. There’s no talking after that.”

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “You men in power have problems.”

I stare at her. She’s close enough that I smell the faint trace of coffee on her skin and feel the warmth of her breath. Her eyes are wet, and for a second, I wonder if it’s for me or for the idea of me.

“Why do you care?”

Her fingers still. “What?”

“You helped them.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “You handed me over to the same people who just tried to put me in the ground. So, tell me, why the sudden concern?”

The hurt that flashes across her face almost makes me regret saying it.

Almost.

“That’s not fair,” she says softly.

“Neither was exile.”

She drops her gaze. “I didn’t know they’d go that far. I thought if I got you to step back, maybe I’d have my life back, and you’d finally be safe.”

“Safe?” I let out a low laugh. “You think there’s any version of this that’s safe?”

She doesn’t answer. She begins cleaning my wound, focused as tears gather along her lashes.

For once, I don’t stop her.

And I sure as hell don’t console her.

Sienna took me out of my position and made me vulnerable. She set me back ten steps and gave everything I built to my brother.

I should kill them both.

However, I can’t stomach even the idea of harming my future wife.

Sienna carefully dabs alcohol on my wound, her hands lingering longer than they should. She looks up at me like she’s trying to memorize the shape of the damage, but it won’t take away what’s been done.

“I didn’t want this,” she says. “I’m sorry.”