Page 34 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I exchange looks with Damiano. "They hacked our security system." It's the only explanation that makes sense. " Delayed the alerts long enough to get their people in position."

"That's not possible," Alessio argues. "Our system is?—"

"Clearly not as fucking impenetrable as we thought," I snarl.

The sound of running footsteps interrupts us as Zoe and Lucrezia appear from the corridor leading to the safe room, both looking shaken.

"She just ran," Lucrezia says, her voice cracking. "We were almost to the safe room when Sienna turned and bolted in the opposite direction."

"I tried to grab her," Zoe adds, "but she was too quick. She said something about not letting anyone else get hurt because of her."

"Enzo," Damiano starts, his tone cautious. "We need to be smart about this. If we move too fast?—"

"If we move too slowly, she's dead," I cut him off. "Or worse."

I know exactly what Sterling is capable of. What Cortez will do to her. The images flood my mind, feeding the rage building inside me.

"I'm going after her," I announce. It's not a question or a request.

I stumble as the man shoves me into the backseat of a black SUV, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

The door slams behind me, sealing me inside with the acrid smell of leather and cigarettes.

I press myself against the door, as far from him as possible, watching his every move as he slides into the driver's seat.

In the rearview mirror, his cold eyes meet mine. I search my memory, trying to place him among my father's many guards and enforcers, but his face remains unfamiliar. That doesn't mean anything—my father has dozens of men I've never seen.

"So," he says, starting the engine with a low rumble, "interesting situation we have here."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "What do you mean?"

He pulls away from the Feretti mansion, tires crunching over broken glass from the explosion. "Your father thinks the Ferettis took you. Kidnapped you." He pauses, watching my reaction in the mirror. "But that's not what I saw back there. You were with them willingly, weren't you?"

Ice floods my veins. If my father discovers I stayed with Enzo by choice...

"Please," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Please don't tell him that."

A small, cruel smile plays on his lips. "And why shouldn't I?"

"I can pay you," I say quickly, the words tumbling out. "More than whatever he's paying you. I have money—hidden money he doesn't know about." It's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that. "Just tell him you found me locked up. Tell him I was a prisoner. "

He takes a sharp turn, throwing me against the door. "Your father pays well."

"I can pay better." My fingers dig into the leather seat. "Please. He'll kill me if he thinks I betrayed him."

The man drives in silence for a long moment, considering. I can feel sweat beading at my hairline, trickling down my back. The bruise on my face throbs in time with my racing heart.

"You know what," he finally says, "I think we can work something out."

I exhale shakily. "Thank you. Thank you?—"

"I don't want your money. Not now, anyway." He meets my eyes in the mirror again, his gaze calculating. "But you owe me. Remember that."

A chill runs through me at his words. I know what men like him consider payment, but right now, I have no choice.

"I'll tell your father I found you locked in a bedroom. That the Ferettis were keeping you as leverage." He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. "But one day, I'll come to collect on this favor. Understand?"

I nod slowly, throat tight with fear. "I understand."

"Good girl." He turns his attention back to the road. "Our little secret."

The weight of this new debt settles over me like a shroud.

I lean my forehead against the cold window, watching the Feretti mansion disappear behind us.

T he car pulls up to my father's mansion, and my stomach twists into knots. The house looms before me—white columns, manicured hedges, and windows that never let enough light in. I've spent my life trying to escape this place, and now I'm being delivered back like a package.

"We're here," the driver announces unnecessarily.

I nod once, my mouth too dry to speak. The bruise on my face throbs as I step out of the car, my legs trembling beneath me.

The front door opens before we reach it.

My father stands in the entryway, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled, his blue eyes cold as they sweep over me.

He's dressed in an impeccable gray suit without a single wrinkle, looking every bit the respectable businessman the world believes him to be.

"Sienna." His voice is calm, controlled—more frightening than if he'd been shouting.

I force myself to meet his gaze, fighting the instinct to look at the floor. "Father."

He steps aside, allowing us to enter. The house smells of furniture polish and emptiness.

"You did good work," my father tells the driver once we're in his study. He sits behind his massive desk, a glass of whiskey already in his hand. "Quick and effective. I appreciate efficiency."

"Thank you, sir." The driver stands at attention, his shoulders squared. "It wasn't difficult. They weren't expecting us."

"And what did you find?" My father's eyes flick to me, then back to the driver.

"She was locked in a bedroom, sir. Looks like they were keeping her as leverage."

"People always say the Feretti family values blood above all else." He laughs.

I struggle to keep my face blank, terror clawing at my throat. Does he know? Did he see through the lie already?

"If someone from another organization comes into my house and points a gun at me," Henry continues, taking a sip of his whiskey, "I'd fight back even if they killed every member of my family first." He sets the glass down with a sharp click. "No one shows such disrespect to Henry Sterling."

The driver nods in agreement. "Of course, sir."

"But the Ferettis?" My father sneers. "Such pussies when it comes to family. One threat to their precious sister, and they fold like cheap cards."

I dig my nails into my palms, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I want to defend Enzo, to tell my father that the Ferettis' love for family isn't weakness. It's the strength that he will never understand. But I swallow the words. Speaking now would only make things worse.

"Anyway," my father says, turning his cold gaze to me, "welcome home, Sienna. I hope you enjoyed your little... adventure."

The way he says "adventure" sends ice down my spine. I know that tone. The punishment will come later, when we're alone.

"Thank you for bringing my daughter back," he tells the driver, dismissing him with a wave. "You'll find your payment has been transferred to your account."

When the door closes behind him, I'm left alone with my father and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, counting down the seconds until his mask of civility drops away.

My father finishes his whiskey in one smooth swallow, setting the glass down with a sharp click against his desk. "You look filthy," he says, his gaze traveling from my tangled hair to my borrowed clothes. "Go upstairs. Shower. Make yourself presentable."

I stand perfectly still, muscles tense, waiting for the explosion of rage, the accusations, the punishment. But his face remains calm, almost pleasant.

"We'll have dinner together," he continues, checking his Rolex. "Be downstairs once you are done. We have something important to discuss."

"Yes, Father," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turns his attention to papers on his desk, dismissing me without another word. I back out of the study, carefully closing the door behind me.

My legs carry me automatically up the grand staircase, past the expensive artwork that has always felt more like decoration than expression. Each step feels heavier than the last. I'm returning to my prison with the knowledge of what freedom tastes like.

My bedroom looks exactly as I left it—perfectly organized, impersonally decorated, not a single item out of place. It's a beautiful cage with high thread-count sheets and designer furniture. I close the door and lean against it, finally allowing myself to exhale.

What a twisted irony. My father believes I was kidnapped. Held against my will, possibly hurt or traumatized and his only concern is that I shower and dress nicely for dinner. No questions about my wellbeing. No relief that I'm unharmed. Just instructions to make myself "presentable."

I push away from the door and walk toward the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the vanity mirror.

The bruise on my face from Jackson stands out against my pale skin.

I touch it gently, wincing at the tenderness.

This mark, at least, wasn't inflicted by my father or one of his "business associates.

" This one came while I was fighting to stay with Enzo.

Enzo.

My throat tightens at the thought of him.

The shower runs hot, steam filling the bathroom as I strip off Zoe's borrowed clothes.

I step under the spray, letting water sluice over my hair and shoulders.

This should feel like coming home, returning to familiar surroundings after time away.

Instead, it feels like stepping back into a nightmare I briefly escaped.

I need to be smart now. Smarter than I've ever been.

My father is many things, but stupid isn't one of them.

If I act differently, if I show any sign that I went with Enzo willingly or that something changed in me, he'll know instantly.

I need to be the perfect, obedient daughter until I figure out my next move.

Whatever my father wants to "discuss" at dinner, it can't be good. Most likely, it's about Cortez. The deal is probably still on, possibly with an even higher price now that I've caused trouble.

I scrub my skin until it's pink. I can't wash away the memories of Enzo's touch, nor do I want to. But I need to bury them deep for now, where my father can't see them. I need to become the vacant-eyed, soft-spoken property he expects me to be.

I'll play my part. I'll survive. And this time, I won't be waiting for someone else to rescue me.