Page 25 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The bruise along my jaw has darkened into a purple-blue stain. My lip is still swollen where it split. But underneath all that, I look... different somehow. Like someone who might have choices.

Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door and freeze .

Enzo stands there in the bedroom, his tall frame tense as he talks with Lucrezia. His eyes instantly lock onto mine, and everything else in the room seems to fade away.

"Sienna," he says, my name coming out rough around the edges. He takes a half-step toward me before stopping, like he's not sure if approaching would frighten me.

I clutch the doorframe, suddenly needing the support. "Enzo."

"I should give you two a minute." Lucrezia says.

"I'll be right down the hall if you need anything," Lucrezia tells me, her meaning clear. If I need an escape from her brother.

When the door closes behind her, silence fills the room. Enzo stands completely still, watching me with an intensity that should be frightening but somehow isn't.

"How are you?" he finally asks, his voice quieter than I've ever heard it.

"Fine," I answer automatically, the lie so practiced it flows without thought.

One corner of his mouth twitches up, but there's no humor in it. "Try again."

I look down at my borrowed clothes, at my hands that won't stop trembling no matter how tightly I clench them. "I don't know how I am," I admit. "Alive. Which is... more than I expected when Jackson showed up."

He flinches slightly at Jackson's name, his jaw tightening.

"Jackson is no longer a concern," he says, the words flat and cold.

I should be horrified by the implication. Instead, relief washes through me so strongly my knees nearly buckle.

"Your wound," I say. " How bad is it?"

"It's nothing." His hand moves to the spot unconsciously. "A scratch."

I remember how he struggled against his restraints when Jackson hit me, fighting so hard the ropes cut into his skin. Blood had been running down his arms, but he hadn't seemed to notice or care.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words inadequate for what he did—what he risked. "For trying to protect me."

Enzo watches me for a long moment. Then he moves toward me, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps.

When he reaches me, his hands come up to frame my face, careful to avoid the bruise blooming on my cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice raw with emotion. "I'm so fucking sorry they got to you. I should have been more careful, should have had more security. This shouldn't have happened to you."

Before I can respond, he leans down and presses his lips against mine. The kiss is desperate, almost pleading, and nothing like our playful kisses during truth or dare. This one tastes of guilt and fear.

I freeze for a heartbeat before melting into him, my hands clutching at his shirt. His warmth surrounds me, making me feel safe in a way that defies logic. When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged.

"Sienna," he says, resting his forehead against mine. "I need to know what's happening. All of it. No more half-truths. I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm fighting against."

I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of my secrets pressing down. "You won't look at me the same after I tell you."

His fingers tighten slightly on my face. "Try me. "

Looking into his eyes, I see nothing but fierce determination.

"Okay," I whisper. "I'll tell you everything."

He leads me to the small sofa by the window, keeping a respectful distance once we sit, though close enough that I can feel his warmth. I stare down at my hands for several minutes, gathering my thoughts, trying to find words for things I've never spoken aloud.

Finally, I take a deep breath and look up at him.

"I was fourteen when Henry told me that from now on I would bring money to the family."

My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "It was a Tuesday night. I remember because I had a history test the next day that I'd been studying for all week."

I twist my fingers together, trying to keep them from shaking. The memory rises up, visceral and suffocating, bringing with it the scent of overcooked steak and red wine.

"Henry had the cook prepare dinner for the three of us. Me, him, and my mother. It was unusual. We rarely ate together." The words feel like glass in my throat. "My mother looked nervous the whole time, kept shooting these worried glances at him."

Enzo sits perfectly still beside me, his breathing controlled and even. I can feel the tension radiating from him, but he doesn't interrupt.

"After dessert, Henry poured himself more wine and told me that some of his business associates had expressed interest in my company." The last word tastes bitter on my tongue. "He said they were willing to pay well for the privilege of spending time with me."

My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I blink rapidly to clear them.

"I didn't understand what he meant at first. I thought maybe they wanted me to attend some function or dinner, like a decoration on their arm." I let out a humorless laugh. "I was so naive."

I risk a glance at Enzo. His face is carved from stone, jaw clenched tight enough that I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"My mother understood immediately. She started yelling at him, screaming that I was just a child, his daughter." I close my eyes, the memory so vivid I can almost hear her voice. "She knocked over her wine glass. Red everywhere, like blood on the white tablecloth."

My hands compress into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms.

"Henry stood up very slowly. He never rushed when he was angry. That's how you knew it was bad—when he got quieter, slower." I swallow hard. "He walked around the table to where she was standing. And then he hit her."

The sharp crack of palm against cheek echoes in my memory.

"Not a slap. A full punch that knocked her to the floor. I'd never seen him hit her before, not like that." My voice breaks. "There was blood coming from her mouth. She looked at me, tried to reach for me, but he stepped on her hand."

The phantom sound of bones crushing makes me flinch.

"He told her that I was his property, just like she was.

That he'd invested years raising me, and it was time for me to start paying dividends.

" My stomach churns. "He said if she interfered again, he'd have her committed somewhere where she'd never see daylight.

Then he told her to clean herself up because she looked disgusting. "

I fall silent, remembering how my mother had crawled away, blood dripping onto the floor. How Henry had calmly returned to his seat and continued eating his dessert as if nothing had happened.

My voice trembles as I continue, "Henry told everyone she fell down the stairs. The doctor he brought—" I pause, remembering the cold, clinical man who never quite met my eyes. "That doctor knew what really happened. He always knew, every single time."

Enzo's hand finds mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The gentle touch anchors me to the present.

"There were so many times a doctor came for her. Broken wrist, bruised ribs, concussion." The list feels endless. I take a shaky breath. "She always tried to protect me. Always put herself between us."

The memory of her desperate courage makes my throat tighten with unexpected pride.

"Until that night, Henry had never hit me. Not once." I let out a bitter laugh. "He was careful about that. Didn't want to damage the goods before they were ready for market."

Enzo's hand tightens around mine, his breathing changing subtly. I can feel the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior, but he remains silent, letting me speak.

"My mother was my shield," I whisper, the realization washing over me with painful clarity. "As long as she was watching, he wouldn't touch me. She knew that. That's why she never left me alone with him if she could help it."

I stare blankly at the wall, seeing not the elegant wallpaper but my mother's face—the determination in her eyes even as her body failed her.

"I'll tell you about what happened to her next time," I say quickly, afraid that if I continue down this path, I'll shatter completely. "I can't. I need a break from this. "

My free hand moves instinctively to my throat, where the thin gold cross usually hangs. Finding it missing makes my heart rate spike until I remember it's probably still at the cabin.

Enzo nods, respect evident in the careful way he releases my hand. "Whenever you're ready. There's no rush."

"There is one thing I need you to understand," I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Henry might have brought in doctors for my mother, but he wasn't being kind. He just needed her functioning. Needed her alive but broken, so she could keep playing her role in his perfect family portrait."

The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. "Those same doctors would later patch me up too, when I got older. When the men Henry let use me got too rough."

Enzo's eyes darken dangerously, but his voice remains steady. "Did that happen often? Men getting rough with you?"

I look away. "Some were worse than others. Most just wanted..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought. "But some enjoyed causing pain. Those were the ones Henry charged extra for the privilege."

The room falls silent except for the sound of Enzo's controlled breathing. When I glance back, his eyes are closed, his hands now clenched into fists on his knees.

"I'm sorry," I say automatically. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. It's too much for anyone to hear."

His eyes snap open. "Don't apologize. Not for this. Not ever for this."

He reaches for my hand again, his touch impossibly gentle despite the tension radiating from him .

"We'll continue when you're ready," he says softly. "You set the pace. You have the power here."

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. Enzo deserves the truth, especially after risking so much to protect me.

"Henry used me to secure business deals," I finally say, my voice barely audible. "Important men would pay him for... time with me."

The words hang heavy between us, the ugly truth finally exposed to light. I risk a glance at Enzo. His face remains carefully controlled, but I can see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the muscle in his jaw twitching rhythmically.

His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but he doesn't move, doesn't explode like I'd feared. Instead, he remains perfectly still, only his eyes betraying the rage within.

"Remember that night at the casino?" I continue, my voice steadier now that I've started. "The man who claimed me as his property for the evening?"

Enzo nods.

"That wasn't the first time I'd seen him. He was... he was the first one. Seven years ago."

The color drains from Enzo's face as understanding dawns. "The first man your father sold you to was at my casino that night?"

"Yes." The word comes out choked. "I couldn't believe it when I saw him there. After all these years."

"That's why you looked so terrified," Enzo says softly. "Not just because of your father's arrangement with Cortez."

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the room's warmth.

"He recognized me immediately. Started talking about old times, how much he'd enjoyed my company years ago.

" Bile rises in my throat at the memory.

"He told me he'd paid extra to be my first. I thought that he was going to take me to Cortez and I followed him because that's what I was tasked to do that night. "

Enzo's breathing changes, becoming deeper, more controlled. I recognize it as the sound of someone fighting to maintain composure.

"Do you know his name?" he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

I shake my head. "Henry never told me their names. It was safer that way, he said. They were just faces to me. Nameless nightmares."

Enzo's eyes burn with a cold fire. "We'll find out who he is."

"And Cortez?" Enzo prompts gently.

"The newest arrangement." I swallow hard against the knot in my throat. "Henry's been negotiating with him for months. Apparently, I was part of a package deal involving shipping routes through Mexico."

Enzo remains silent for a long moment, his breathing measured and deep. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight with controlled fury.

"These men. All of them. They will pay for what they did to you."

"No one's ever believed me before," I whisper. "No one's ever wanted to help."

Enzo takes my hand in his, his touch gentle despite the violence I know those hands are capable of. "I believe you, Sienna. And I promise you, they will all answer for this. Starting with your father."

I let myself collapse against Enzo's chest, all my strength suddenly gone.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around me, holding me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

Yet somehow it's exactly what I need. His embrace is nothing like the touches I've experienced before; there's no demand in it, no expectation, just pure comfort.

"I've got you," he whispers against my hair. "I've got you, piccola."

His hand moves in slow circles on my back, careful to avoid the places where he knows my scars are. His other arm remains firmly around me, keeping me anchored against him, a physical wall between me and the world that has hurt me for so long.

"Let it out," he murmurs. "You're safe here. No one can hurt you."

The words only make me cry harder. Years of pent-up tears flow freely now, my body shaking with the force of them. Enzo holds me through it all, his heartbeat steady and strong against my ear.

"I never..." I try to speak between sobs, the words breaking apart. "I never had anyone to talk to."

His arms tighten around me.

"My mother tried," I continue, my voice ragged. "But she couldn't... she couldn't protect herself, let alone me. And then she was gone, and I was alone with him."

I feel Enzo's chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"I used to fantasize about running away," I admit. "But where would I go? Henry has connections everywhere."

I trail off, the memory too painful.

"You don't have to tell me everything at once," Enzo says softly. "Just know that you're not alone anymore, Sienna."

"I'm so tired," I whisper against his chest. "Tired of being afraid all the time. Tired of having no one to talk to. No one to trust."

His hand moves up to stroke my hair, careful to avoid the tender spot where Jackson grabbed me. "You can talk to me," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

For the first time in years, maybe in my entire life, I let someone else take the weight of my pain. I cry until there's nothing left, until my throat is raw and my eyes burn. And through it all, Enzo holds me, steady and unwavering, his presence a promise I never thought anyone would make me.