Page 15 of His Savage Ruin

I breathe harder than I should, chest tight, pulse racing. And while my head is pounding and the bump on the back of it is pulsating, for the first time in weeks, I feel something close to satisfaction.

When I sink into his leather chair to wait for him, my heart is still pounding—not from fear this time, but from finally letting go of it.

That’s when I hear the knock at the door.

“Um, hello?” A female voice calls through the door. “I brought some food.”

The door opens to reveal a young woman about my age, balancing a tray. Long dark hair, soft features, hazel eyes that widen as she takes in the wreckage I’ve made of Matteo’s pristine room.

“Oh my,” she says, stepping inside and nudging the door closed behind her. Two guards remain stationed outside. Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “Matteo won’t like this.”

“I couldn’t care less what my abductor likes,” I say flatly, folding my arms.

She sets the tray carefully on a corner of the desk, finding a patch of space I haven’t claimed with chaos.

“I’m Isabella,” she says, extending her hand after a few seconds of awkward silence. “Matteo’s sister.”

I hesitate before shaking it. “Alessia.”

There’s warmth in her eyes—genuine, unforced. Something I haven’t seen in many women in our circles.

"I figured you might be hungry," she continues, lifting the silver dome from a plate of pasta that smells like heaven. "And thirsty." She produces a bottle of wine from the tray. "Nothing too strong—you look like you've had enough excitement for one day."

I accept the glass she pours, noting how she seems to catalog every detail of the room's chaos without comment. She's observing, assessing, but not judging. At least, not obviously enough for me to see it.

“So,” she says, sitting across from me, “how are you finding the place?”

"Luxurious," I reply dryly, gesturing to the mess around us. "Though I may have made some interior design improvements."

Isabella laughs—a genuine sound that lights up her entire face. "I can see that. My brother does like his order."

"Your brother likes his control."

She doesn’t argue. “True.”

I swirl the wine in my glass. “And you?”

“I survive in it,” she says simply.

I study her face, seeing intelligence there, along with something that looks like genuine concern. For the first time since this nightmare began, I'm talking to someone who doesn't seem to have an agenda beyond basic human kindness.

But she's also Matteo's sister. His family. And in this world, family loyalty runs deeper than blood—it runs to bone.

Still, if I'm going to survive this, I need allies. And Isabella Romano might just be the best one I can find.

“Here’s to survival, then,” I say, lifting my glass.

Her mouth curves in a small smile as she clinks hers against mine.

“To survival.”

CHAPTER SIX

Matteo

The war room in my estate has seen countless meetings, but none quite like this. Blood from the ambush still stains my shirt cuff—a reminder of how close we came to losing our most valuable asset. How close I came to losing her.

I push that thought away as my inner circle files in. Enzo moves with his usual predatory grace, serpent tattoo visible beneath his rolled sleeves. Rafael follows, carrying with him the scent of gunpowder from the firefight, his green eyes bright with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from surviving violence. Dante, mycapo, adjusts his perfect cufflinks, looking more like a senator than a killer despite the blood spatter on his collar. Luca brings up the rear, his eyes already calculating the implications of what just happened.