Sienna
Cocktails and laughter fill the air.
Another party, another evening of glamor.
I catch a full glass of champagne from a white-tailed waiter.
Jazz floats through the crowd, catching in the velvet drapes hanging from the ceiling.
My parents are wrapped around each other on the dance floor. An island of love in the center of the crowd of power and politics.
I stand alone at the foot of the grand staircase, shimmering in gray and silver. An island alone in my shining life.
I climb the stairs.
My feet have traced this path my whole life.
Jimmy Choos echoing on the hardwood, I leave the warmth of the party. Candles flicker as I pass, glinting off the diamond necklace my father gave me before the party.
“You aren’t my little girl anymore, are you?” he whispered when he fastened it around my neck, the perfect accent to my silver and white form-fitting gown.
He looked sad and proud at the same time.
“I’ll always be your little girl, Daddy,” I hugged him and sent him off to his guests.
I love my parents and I am so proud of his run for Senate, even if I am personally worried about the lack of privacy that will come with his win. I know Daddy’s doing a good thing for the sake of the nation.
My father’s favorite jazz band is playing tonight. After the expected mingling, he and my mother are now enjoying the rest of the night—together.
They will be dancing in each other’s arms long after the last guests go home.
The music and the voices fade as I climb the long staircase.
Shadows draw around me separating me from the joy and light below.
I open the door to my old playroom. Now decked out as a ladies’ dressing room, it was yet another reminder that I’m no longer the carefree child I once was.
“Running away?” Layla, the coffee heiress is sitting on the ivory settee.
She’s curled up comfortably, leaning on the blush velvet pillows.
She sets an empty champagne glass down as I close the door.
“Just for a little while, what about you? You disappeared after the waltz with that new actor,” I tease her.
I’m happy Layla is here, but I was thinking about stretching out on that settee and enjoying some quiet.
The night feels off, the sky outside the french doors too black.
I can’t see the stars, and the moon is dark.
“Stepped on my toes,” she laughs.
I sit next to her, and she snatches the glass of champagne from my hands.
She takes a long sip and hands it back. “Need me to cover for you for a bit?” she raises an eyebrow.
“Just need to breathe, and a quick touch up. I’ll be down in a little while,” I answer.
“Well you should hurry, there are many eligible bachelors out there looking to hook up with the soon to be senator’s daughter,” Layla moves to the vanity and checks her lipstick in the mirror.
I lay back on the settee and let out a sigh.
I’m tired of the Hollywood fuckboys vying for my attention.
Their passion is more for my father’s position and money than for myself—well, that, and for my body.
“I know no one has been good enough for you, Sienna, but don’t waste away in your tower,” Layla finishes her touch-up. “I’ll see you down there,” she closes the door behind her.
The room is silent and still.
I move to the vanity. Reaching for my La Mer powder, I think about what she said.
I’ve been waiting. I could have any man in the world, so why do I wait to let my body do what it so desperately wants?
I finish the champagne, and study my reflection. The diamonds at my throat catch the light and trace the curves at the top of my breasts.
The glittering gown is my armor, I wear white and hold everyone but my family at arm's length.
I dreamed of the perfect man here in this room, in this house, when I was a little girl; and I’ve been waiting for him ever since.
CRASH!
The french doors leading to the balcony shatter inward, together with a flash of light and a loud boom.
My ears ring, and my eyes flare, like stepping into a dark room from the bright LA sun.
I can make out black figures pouring into the room from the hall door.
My voice tears from my throat in a scream.
My heart slams in my chest.
How did they get here?
What do they want?
A leather-clothed hand covers my mouth, I can smell sweat and gunpowder on the leather.
A hard, hot body pulls me close.
I struggle, kicking at the legs behind me, trying to hit the massive body holding me captive with my elbows.
My fingers claw at the arm pinning me to the wall of sour sweat.
A dark figure catches my frantic hands, and thick black tape is wrapped around my hands, binding them in front of me.
The leather hand covering my mouth is replaced with a gag.
I’m thrown over a shoulder like a piece of luggage. I struggle to keep my head up, to look around me.
My vision is clearing, and men in black wearing ski masks surround me.
I don’t know who they are, but I can guess what they want with me.
“Out the front. This one isn’t about stealth, boss wants us to make a real statement,” the man carrying me growls to the others.
I hear men moving around, the man standing behind the one carrying me. He pulls an uzi and grunts his readiness.
What is happening?
We’re heading down the stairs.
My parents song is ending. I imagine them in the center of the floor, the guests surrounding them.
I can hear clapping between my sobbing screams.
Hot tears run down my face; I don’t know what’s going to happen.
Who are these men?
Who is their boss, and what does he want with me?
I try to scream around the gag, I want to make noise, call security before we get to the dance floor, before anyone gets hurt.
I’m jostled all the way down the long staircase.
I can feel bruises blossoming on my hips where I hit the man’s shoulder again and again; I know if this is the worst injury I come out of this with, I’ll be lucky.
We reach the bottom and the band stops. I can see the man behind me walking quickly and aiming his gun around the room.
“Security,” my father’s voice, strained.
I scream into my gag. I toss my head, trying to stop him.
I want to scream help.
I want to scream, ‘let them take me’.
I want to be free.
I want everyone to be safe.
I won’t get what I want.
The glittering guests draw back from the diamond of armed men quickly marching across the floor.
Our private security force should be scattered around the dance floor, they will be drawing their handguns.
Peashooters against the uzis the thugs are toting.
A shot.
The man carrying me staggers, and I see the bullet hole bloom in his calf.
The man behind us steps up and catches me as he staggers. My feet touch the ground.
The other three have opened fire.
Crystal shatters, shards of wood and glass fly.
Cultured voices scream in fear and agony.
I kick and fight with the man holding my bound hands. I am loose. I run towards the center of the room.
My father is crouched over my mother, shielding her from the debris.
The guards around the room are emptying their clips towards the thugs.
One of ours goes down.
My father stands between my mother and the thugs. He opens his arms to me.
I’m running for the safety of my father, my shoes ruined by the broken glass.
The world shatters. The bullets that were hitting the walls and ceilings dance past me.
I watch my father’s face crumple.
His white shirt now bright red with blood. He falls to the ground.
I fall barely a foot from him.
He reaches his hand out to me, and my mother crawls to him.
The light in his eyes is gone.
The room falls away.
All I can hear are her sobbing cries.
Rough hands pick me up. I’m slung over another hard shoulder.
The cold night grips me.
I don’t know what’s happening.
All I know is my father is dead, and I’ve been taken by his murderer.