Page 38 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I stare at the ceiling from my bed, counting the crown molding's intricate patterns for what must be the hundredth time today. The gilded prison of my bedroom feels smaller than ever, the walls closing in with each passing hour.

A tray of untouched food sits on my nightstand, delivered by a maid who couldn't meet my eyes. No one wants to look at the sacrifice being prepared for slaughter.

The door crashes open, slamming against the wall with such force that the framed landscapes tremble. My father stands in the doorway, his face contorted with rage, veins bulging at his temples.

"You stupid, ungrateful little bitch!" Henry's voice tears through the room. "What have you done?"

I sit up slowly, ice filling my veins.

"Your mother is gone!" He stalks toward me, expensive cologne mixing with whiskey on his breath. "That bastard Feretti took her from Oakwood this morning. He called me himself, demanding I hand you over in exchange."

My heart pounds against my ribs. Enzo found her. He actually found my mother.

"What did you tell him?" Henry grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin. "What else did you share with that piece of shit while you were spreading your legs for him?"

I pull back, bile rising in my throat. "I didn't?—"

"Don't lie to me!" Spittle flies from his mouth. "I've given you everything—education, a future with Cortez. And this is how you repay me? By revealing family business to those Feretti dogs?"

I remain silent, staring at the wall beyond his shoulder.

"Maybe you enjoyed it," he sneers, releasing my arm to pace the room. "Maybe all these years, I've been doing you a favor. Perhaps you've developed a taste for it. Letting men use that body of yours. Is that it? You're no better than a common whore now?"

Something inside me snaps.

"A whore?" I stand up, trembling with seven years of suppressed rage.

"You didn't give me anything!" My voice rises. "You sold me! Over and over again, to anyone willing to pay the price or offer you something in return."

"Watch your tone?—"

"No!" I scream, my hands balling into fists. "You watched while men hurt me! You listened while I begged you to make it stop! What kind of father does that?"

His face darkens. "I am a businessman?—"

"You're a monster!" The words tear from my throat. "My mother knew it. That's why you locked her away—because she tried to save me from you!"

Henry's eyes narrow to slits. "Your mother was weak, just like you."

"She was brave," I counter, tears streaming down my face. "And now she's free. Enzo will protect her just like he protected me."

My father's cruel laugh echoes off the walls. "Protected you? Is that what you think he did? You naive little fool. Men like Feretti don't protect. They possess. You've simply traded one owner for another."

"He's nothing like you," I spit, my whole body shaking. "MONSTER."

My father's open palm connects with my cheek before I can react. The force of it snaps my head sideways, sending me stumbling back against the wall. Pain blooms hot and sharp across my face.

"You little bitch," he hisses, advancing on me.

His fist drives into my stomach next. I double over, gasping as the air rushes from my lungs.

"This is how you repay everything I've done for you?" Another blow lands on my shoulder. "Everything I've built? The connections I've made?"

I start to laugh.

It begins as a small, broken sound that bubbles up from my throat. Then it grows louder, wilder, until I'm practically howling with it.

Henry freezes, his fist pulled back for another strike. Confusion flickers across his face.

"What's so funny?" he demands.

I look up at him through my tangled hair, tasting blood where my teeth cut into my cheek. "Go ahead," I gasp between bursts of laughter. "Kill me. It's the only thing I'd ever be grateful to you for."

His eyes widen slightly.

"Do it," I taunt him, still laughing. "At least death would free me from you. From all of this."

Henry's arm lowers slowly.

"Always the dramatic one, just like your mother." He straightens his suit jacket, composing himself. "Unfortunately for you, death would be too merciful."

He steps back, looking down at me with contempt. "The only thing saving you right now is that I need Charlotte more than I need you."

I spit blood onto his polished shoes. "He'll never give her back to you."

"We'll see about that. First, I'll get your mother back." His voice drops to a venomous whisper. "And then, Sienna, you'll die. I promise you that."

"You're going to lose everything," I scream as he turns toward the door. "Enzo will destroy you! You hear me? He'll burn everything you've built to the ground!"

"Keep his name out of your filthy mouth," Henry snarls over his shoulder. "You've dishonored this family enough."

"Family?" I laugh bitterly, clutching my ribs. "We were never a family. Just a businessman and his merchandise."

His hand pauses on the doorknob, and for a second, I think he might come back to finish what he started. Instead, he walks out, slamming the door behind him with such force that dust rains down from the ceiling.

The lock clicks into place, and I'm alone again with my pain and fury.

I collapse onto the bed, my body throbbing from Henry's attack. Every breath sends sharp pain through my ribs, and my face pulses where his hand struck. But despite the physical agony, I feel hope rising inside me.

Hope.

Enzo found my mother. The thought replays in my mind like a beautiful melody I can't stop hearing. After all these years of believing she was lost to me forever, someone actually went looking for her. Someone actually found her.

I press my fingertips gently against my swollen cheek, wincing at the tenderness. The pain grounds me in reality, reminding me this isn't just another desperate dream.

He actually did it.

Tears well up, but they're different from the ones I've shed for years. These don't burn with helplessness. They overflow with something that feels dangerously like gratitude.

I realize I'm smiling despite the split in my lip, despite the fear and uncertainty.

No one has ever fought for me before. No one has ever valued me enough to wage war for my freedom.

A laugh bubbles up, sending fresh pain through my ribs. It's absurd, really. I've spent years dreaming of escape, of freedom from my father's control, and now that someone's actually fighting for that freedom, I might not live to enjoy it.

But it doesn't matter. Not really.

"Thank you," I whisper, not sure if I'm speaking to God or Enzo or just the universe in general.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel something beyond fear and resignation. Even if Henry kills me tomorrow, even if I never see Enzo again, he's given me the most precious gift possible.

He's given me back my hope.

He's shown me that humanity still exists .

That I still exist. And matter.

I touch my bruised face again, and despite the pain, my smile remains.

I stride back to Charlotte's room, my mind already mapping out tomorrow's exchange.

I knock once before entering. Charlotte sits in an armchair by the window, her delicate frame swallowed by a cashmere blanket.

"I spoke with Henry," I announce, closing the door behind me. "He's agreed to the exchange."

Charlotte's fingers tighten around the teacup in her hands. "When?"

"Eight o'clock tomorrow night. I'll bring you to the estate." I move closer, taking the seat opposite her. "We need to prepare, go through every detail of what happens tomorrow. But first—are you feeling alright to do this? If you need more time..."

A bitter smile touches her lips. "Time is the one luxury Sienna doesn't have." She sets down her teacup. "This is our last hope, Mr. Feretti. I've spent six years in that place while Henry..." Her voice cracks, but she recovers quickly. "I won't fail my daughter again."

The maternal fierceness in her eyes reminds me of my own mother. That same protective fire that would burn the world down for her children.

"Call me Enzo," I tell her, leaning forward. "And we won't fail. I've asked from our family doctor to examine you first. He'll make sure you're stable enough and advise if you need any special medications."

Charlotte's eyes flood with tears. "I tried to protect her. I tried to get us both away."

"Sienna told me about your escape attempt," I say softly. "She never blamed you."

A knock at the door interrupts us. Dr. Romano enters, medical bag in hand.

"Mrs. Sterling, I'm Dr. Romano," he introduces himself with professional warmth. "I'd like to examine you, if that's alright. After years of sedation, we need to ensure you're physically stable."

I stand, giving Charlotte a reassuring nod. "I'll leave you with the doctor. He'll determine if you need anything special before tomorrow."

I head down the hall, my footsteps echoing against marble floors. My mind's a battlefield of strategies and contingencies for tomorrow's exchange, but beneath it all runs a current of something else—something I'm not ready to name.

I need space to breathe. To think.

My feet carry me toward Lucrezia's art room without conscious decision. The door stands ajar, soft morning light spilling into the hallway. I pause at the threshold, watching my sister work.

Lucrezia stands before a canvas, paintbrush in hand, her dark hair pulled back in a messy knot.

A sight I haven't seen in months, unless the other day she was in here with Sienna.

Her face holds an intensity I've missed, the furrow between her brows that appears when she's translating something from her mind to canvas.

"You gonna stand there all day?" she asks without turning.

I step inside, the familiar scent of oils and turpentine wrapping around me. "Good to see you painting again."

Her brush doesn't falter. "Feels strange. Like putting on clothes that don't fit anymore." She adds a streak of crimson to the canvas. "How's Charlotte?"

"Stronger than she looks." I move beside her, studying the painting—a storm of dark colors with hints of light breaking through. "The doctor's with her now."

Lucrezia sets down her brush, turning to face me. "And how are you?"

"Fine."

"Liar." She wipes her hands on a cloth. "You look like you're coming apart at the seams."

I sigh, lowering myself onto the worn leather couch against the wall. "I'll be better when Sienna's back."

Lucrezia studies me with those perceptive eyes that see too much. "It's more than that," she says, pulling up a stool to sit across from me. "I know what you look like when you're worried about business. This is different."

I say nothing, but she waits me out, the way she's done since we were kids.

"What is it about her?" Lucrezia finally asks. "You've known her, what—a week?"

"A lifetime's worth of moments crammed into days," I reply, surprising myself with the truth of it.

Lucrezia tilts her head. "Is it love?" The question hangs in the air, direct and unflinching. "How do you even know when it's love? "

I run a hand over my face, buying time. But the answer comes easier than I expected.

"Love isn't what they sell in movies," I tell her.

"It's not butterflies or poetry or any of that shit.

It's seeing someone exactly as they are—all their darkness, all their damage—and choosing them anyway.

" I lean forward, the words coming from somewhere I didn't know existed inside me.

"It's when their pain becomes your pain.

When you'd tear your own heart out if it would heal theirs. "

Lucrezia watches me silently, something vulnerable crossing her face.

"With Sienna," I continue, "it's like finding a piece of myself I didn't know was missing. She's been through hell, but she still has this light in her. This strength." I shake my head. "Time doesn't factor into it. Some people, you just recognize. Like your soul's been waiting for them."

"I've never felt that," Lucrezia whispers. "Not once."

"You will," I tell her. "When you're ready. When the right person deserves you."

She looks down at her paint-stained hands. "After what happened... I don't know if I can ever let someone that close."

I reach across, taking her hand in mine. "That's the thing about love, Luce. Real love. It doesn't demand you be whole first. It meets you in your brokenness and says 'I'll carry what you can't.'"

A tear slides down her cheek. "When did my brother become a philosopher?"

I smile slightly. "When a woman with blue eyes and too many scars crashed into my life and refused to leave my thoughts."

Lucrezia wipes away her tear and straightens her posture. "You need to rest before tomorrow," she says, her voice shifting to that no-nonsense tone she inherited from our mother. "When's the last time you slept?"

I shrug. "I'll sleep when Sienna's safe."

"You'll be useless to her if you're dead on your feet." She stands, wiping paint-stained hands on her jeans. "Even Damiano takes breaks."

I nod.

She stares at me for a long moment, then crosses the distance between us. Without warning, she wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"I'm proud of you," she whispers against my ear.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I can't remember the last time anyone said that to me. In our world, violence and business acumen are expected, not praised. We don't congratulate sharks for swimming or wolves for hunting.

My arms circle around her slender frame. "For what?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended.

"For finding something worth fighting for beyond just family duty. For seeing Sienna as a person, not a mission." She pulls back, holding my face between her hands exactly like our mother did when we were children. "For becoming the man I always knew you were beneath all that Feretti armor."

Something strange unfurls in my chest. When Damiano took over and I became his enforcer, I locked away certain parts of myself. Vulnerability. Tenderness. Hope. They were luxuries a capo couldn't afford.

Yet here was Lucrezia, looking at me like I was somehow more than the violence I'd spent years perfecting.

"Don't go soft on me now," I mutter, uncomfortable with the emotion thickening my voice.

"Wouldn't dream of it." She steps back, resuming her usual teasing manner. "You're still a terrifying asshole most of the time."

I laugh despite myself. "Good to know my reputation's intact."

"But seriously, Enzo." Her expression sobers. "Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow. ."

"I promise," I tell Lucrezia, the words feeling like a vow. "Now, quit worrying and get back to your painting. It's good to see you creating again."