Page 18 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I study Sienna across the coffee table, now littered with the remnants of our game. We've been at this for over an hour, and I've learned her favorite color is ocean blue, her preferred season is autumn, she can recite entire passages from Jane Austen novels, and she's terrified of spiders.

Small details. Safe truths.

Every time, she chooses "truth" when I ask, yet sidesteps anything too revealing.

I could push harder—ask about her father, about what she's still hiding—but that would break this fragile peace we've built.

The way her shoulders have gradually relaxed, how her smile comes more easily now feels too precious to shatter.

"Truth or dare?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Truth," I answer, having alternated between both options throughout our game.

"Have you ever cheated at cards?" Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Because I still don't understand how I won six times in a row."

I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I would never cheat at cards. Especially not against a beginner." I pause for dramatic effect. "I simply let you win to boost your confidence."

"Liar," she says without heat, a small smile playing on her lips.

"That's not how the game works. You can't question my truth." I glance at my watch and notice it's already noon. "Merda. Is that the time?"

Sienna follows my gaze. "I didn't realize it was so late."

My stomach growls loudly enough for her to hear, and she actually laughs—that soft, unexpected sound that transforms her entire face.

"I think your stomach is trying to tell us something," she says.

"Breakfast," I agree, stretching as I stand. "Or lunch, I suppose." I extend a hand to help her up, then catch myself, remembering how she flinches from unexpected touches and drop it back to my side. "Come on. Let's find something to eat."

In the kitchen, I rummage through the refrigerator while Sienna perches on a stool at the island.

"If Noah knew I spent an entire morning playing Truth or Dare instead of handling business, he'd never let me hear the end of it," I say, pulling out eggs and vegetables for omelets .

"Noah?" she asks.

I nod, cracking eggs into a bowl. "My second-in-command. Well, technically Damiano's third, but he works mostly with me now." I glance over at her. "He'd be insufferable about this—me playing board games like a normal person."

She watches me chop peppers with practiced efficiency. "Are you and Noah close?"

The question surprises me. It's the first time she's asked anything about my life beyond the game.

"As close as men in our position get," I say carefully, adding the vegetables to a hot pan. "We trust each other with our lives, which counts for something."

"But are you friends?" she persists.

I consider this while whisking eggs. "We don't go bowling or share our feelings, if that's what you're asking." The oil sizzles as I pour the egg mixture into the pan. "But yeah, he's probably the closest thing to a friend I have outside family."

Sienna's face takes on that thoughtful expression I've come to recognize—like she's turning over my words, searching for the truth beneath them.

"What are the relationships like? Between the men who work for you, I mean."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest in male bonding?"

She shrugs, her fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. "Just trying to understand your world."

I savor the moment as I flip the omelet with a practiced flick of my wrist. Her curiosity about my world feels like a small victory. Like she's stopped seeing me as just another threat .

"Well, Alessio is practically family," I say, sliding the first omelet onto a plate. "I've known him since we were kids. He basically grew up with us. Damiano and I consider him a brother more than an employee."

Sienna nods, absorbing this information as I start on the second omelet.

"He's the one with the... intense stare?" she asks, gesturing vaguely around her eyes.

I chuckle. "That's him. Looks like he's planning murder even when he's just thinking about lunch." I sprinkle cheese into the pan. "But he's loyal to the bone. Would die for any of us without hesitation."

The cheese sizzles as it melts. I focus on folding the omelet perfectly, aware of her watching my movements.

"Then there's Matteo," I continue, setting the second plate on the counter. "Works security mostly. Professional, competent, keeps things running. We're not close, but I trust him to do his job well."

I slide her plate across the island before grabbing forks from a drawer.

Sienna takes a tentative bite of her omelet, then a more enthusiastic second one. I smile slightly at her enjoyment before digging into my own.

"What about the tall one?" she asks between bites. "The one who stands behind your brother like a statue?"

"Daniel Hayes," I reply, my tone shifting subtly. "Former military. Doesn't say much, but when he does, you listen. He's different from the others—keeps his distance emotionally, but his loyalty is absolute." I take a sip of my coffee. "He's Lucrezia's personal security now."

Something darkens in Sienna's eyes at the mention of my sister needing protection .

"Because of what happened to her?" she asks quietly.

I set my fork down, weighing how much to share. "Partly. Daniel was already working for us before that, but afterward he took it personally. As the chief in our security team."

Sienna is silent for a moment. "You all seem to take care of each other."

"We do," I say simply. "In our world, the people you surround yourself with are everything. One weak link can bring everything down."

"And everyone has their role," she observes.

I nod. "Damiano leads. I enforce. Noah executes. Alessio advises. Daniel protects. Matteo makes the deals." I shrug. "It works."

"What about the women?" Sienna asks, surprising me again. "Like Zoe? Do they have roles too?"

I study her, sensing more behind the question. Is she trying to figure out where she fits? Or maybe what might be expected of her?

"Zoe is Damiano's partner in every sense," I explained carefully. "She's not in the business, but she understands it. Supports him. Makes him better." I finish my coffee. "But she chose that role. No one assigned it to her."

Sienna considers this, her fork idly pushing the last bits of egg around her plate. I can practically see her mind working, processing what I've told her against whatever she's experienced before.

T he question burns inside me before I can stop myself. "Has your family ever worked with my father?"

Enzo's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. His eyes lock with mine, calculating as always. He sets the fork down slowly.

"I don't know how much you know about what your father does," he says carefully. "His business."

Something cold slides down my spine. The familiar weight of dread settles in my stomach, heavy as stone. Of course this would come up eventually.

"I know he imports luxury goods from Europe and Asia," I begin, reciting what I've been told to say since childhood. "Artwork, antiques, jewelry. He has shipping contracts with several fashion houses."

Enzo's face remains impassive, but I see the subtle tightening around his eyes.

"He also owns real estate," I continue, my voice growing quieter. "Office buildings, a few hotels. And he has some investments in technology startups."

The kitchen suddenly feels too warm. Too small. Enzo's gaze is steady, unblinking.

"Is that all you know?" he asks softly.

I nod, feeling strangely ashamed though I'm not sure why. "He doesn't discuss business with me."

Enzo leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. The silence stretches between us until I can't bear it.

"What else is there?" I finally ask, though part of me doesn't want to know the answer.

"Apparently you only know the legitimate things," Enzo says, his voice controlled and neutral. "The parts meant for public consumption."

My heart thuds harder. "And the other parts?"

Enzo studies me for a long moment before answering. "Your father moves more than just luxury goods through his shipping channels, piccola."

The Italian endearment slips out seemingly without his notice, but I catch it.

"What does he move?" I press, needing to know despite my fear.

"Drugs. Weapons." Enzo's voice is matter-of-fact, not accusatory. "People."

People?

I've always suspected, of course.

But suspecting isn't the same as knowing.

"People," I repeat, the word tasting bitter. "You mean trafficking?"

Enzo nods once, his eyes never leaving mine. "Sterling is one of the largest traffickers on the East Coast. Primarily women."

The room seems to tilt slightly. I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself.

"I didn't know," I whisper, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Not for certain."

"You weren't meant to," Enzo says, and there's something almost gentle in his tone. "That's how men like your father operate. They compartmentalize. Keep the ugly parts hidden."

I try to force a dry laugh, but it comes out as more of a choked sound. "Of course I knew he wasn't just selling luxury watches and rare paintings. The armed guards, the midnight meetings, the way people looked at him with fear instead of respect..." I shake my head. "I'm not stupid. "

My fingers trace invisible patterns on the wooden table. "I knew about the drugs and weapons. You don't grow up in a house like mine without overhearing things. Without noticing patterns."

Enzo watches me carefully, like he's trying to read between my words.

"But trafficking people?" I continue, swallowing hard. "I suspected something darker. But I didn't want to believe that he was in the actual mafia." The admission feels like ripping off a bandage, painful but necessary.

"Your father isn't mafia," Enzo says, his voice firm. "He's something worse."

I look up sharply. "Is there a difference? Aren't you all criminals?"

"There's a difference," he says, each word precise as a blade. "We have codes. Rules. Lines we don't cross."

"Like what?" I challenge, needing to understand the world I've stumbled into.

"We don't hurt innocent people. We don't target civilians. We don't involve children." Enzo's jaw tightens. "And we don't force women."

He leans forward slightly. "Your father breaks all those rules. He has no code except profit."

"And that makes you better?" I ask, not accusingly but genuinely trying to understand.

"Not better. Different." Enzo's expression hardens. "We hurt people who deserve to be hurt. People who've made choices to enter our world. People who understand the risks."

He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. "Your father hurts anyone who can make him money. That's the difference."

I absorb this, trying to fit this new information into my understanding of the world. Of my father. Of the man sitting across from me.

"So the Ferettis are what? Honorable criminals?" I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice.

"We're businessmen who operate outside the law," Enzo corrects me.