Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the Commission
The morning sun broke over the Manhattan horizon, flooding the guest suite with brilliant amber light.
Sienna sat at a vanity table in the opulent room, dressed in a simple cream silk robe that Elena had left for her. The bruises on her neck were darker today, a stark blue-purple collar against her pale skin.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. For twenty years, she had lived a completely invisible life. She had been the quiet daughter of a ruined cop, the hardworking sister trying to keep her reckless brother afloat. Now, she was hidden away in the sky fortress of the most dangerous man in the state.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said.
The door opened, and Silas Mercer stepped inside. Without his coat, the muscular contours of his arms were visible beneath a tight black henley. He carried a silver tray containing fresh coffee, warm croissants, and a tablet device.
"Morning," Silas said gruffly, placing the tray on the small table near the window. "Boss said you'd be awake."
"Thank you," Sienna said cautiously, standing up. "Where is Damian?"
" Downstairs in the lower offices, dealing with a political problem," Silas replied, tapping the screen of the tablet. "The Commission called an emergency session for noon today at the Plaza Hotel."
Sienna frowned. "The Commission?"
"The five leaders of the ruling families," Silas explained, sliding the tablet toward her. "Viktor Nikolli called in a formal complaint. He claims Damian breached the 2016 Non-Interference Treaty by executing Mickey Dolan and seizing you before Nikolli’s crew could collect their street debt."
Sienna felt a cold drop of sweat trace her spine. "Executes? Mickey is dead?"
"Silas took care of it," Silas said casually, as if talking about taking out the trash. "Mickey ran his mouth to the Albanians. He was a mole inside our club network. He had to go anyway."
He pointed to the screen, which showed a series of high-resolution security camera feeds, financial ledgers, and mugshots.
"Here's the deal, Miss Hayes," Silas said, stepping back with his hands behind his waist. "Damian protected you under the sanctuary rule. But Nikolli is trying to convince the other four families that Damian did it out of arrogance—that he’s using your father’s old police connections to undermine the street bosses. If the Commission sides with Nikolli, it could spark a territory war across three boroughs."
"What does Damian want me to do?" Sienna asked, her pulse quickening.
"He wants you to dress up," Silas said, a ghost of a grin appearing on his scarred face. "You're coming to the Plaza."
Two hours later, Sienna stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master dressing room.
She wore a high-collared, sleeveless emerald green velvet dress tailored perfectly to her waist, covering the bruises on her neck entirely with a vintage diamond choker that had belonged to Damian’s late mother. Her auburn hair was pinned up in a sophisticated French twist, leaving her neck long and graceful.
When she stepped into the penthouse living room, Damian was waiting by the front door. He wore a crisp double-breasted navy suit with a silver silk tie.
He stopped as he saw her walk out. His eyes slowly traveled up from the hem of the velvet dress to the diamond choker around her neck. For a brief fraction of a second, the cold mask he wore slipped, revealing a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.
"The choker suits you," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
"It feels like heavy armor," Sienna replied, reaching up to touch the cold diamonds.
"It is armor," Damian said, stepping toward her and extending his arm. "Today, you aren't a waitress who got caught in a loan shark's trap. You are the daughter of Robert Hayes, standing under the personal protection of the Russo family. When we walk into that room, you do not look down. You do not speak unless I ask you a question. You look every man in that room in the eyes and let them see that you belong to me."
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"And if they don't care about the sanctuary rule?" she asked, her hand resting on his forearm. Through the fine wool of his jacket, she could feel the steel muscle beneath.
"Then," Damian said, his dark eyes flashing with a terrible, dark light, "I burn their network to the ground."
