Page 46 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I pull into the warehouse on Fulton Street, the tires of my Audi crunching over gravel. The building looks abandoned from the outside—old brick, boarded windows, rusted metal door. Perfect for what we need.

No one would hear the screams.

Inside, the air smells like metal and bleach. Alessio stands by the far wall, scrolling through his phone, looking bored despite the bound man in the chair behind him.

"You're late," Alessio says, not looking up.

"Family breakfast." I shrug off my jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door. "How's our guest?"

Alessio's mouth quirks up. "Started begging about an hour ago. Offering money, properties, connections—the usual."

I roll up my sleeves, methodical, one fold at a time. "Of course he did."

Sterling's head snaps up at the sound of my voice. His face is a mess—blood crusted around his nose, one eye swollen shut, lip split. Alessio's been busy.

"Feretti." His voice cracks, desperation leaking through. "This is a mistake. We can work something out. I have money, connections in Europe you could use. Think about what you're throwing away."

I approach slowly, circling him like prey. "You've been selling your daughter since she was fourteen." My voice comes out cold, controlled. "You watched men hurt her. You kept her mother drugged for years. And you think I want your fucking money?"

"Everyone has a price." He tries to straighten in the chair, wincing as the zip ties cut into his wrists. "Name yours. Twice whatever you're thinking."

I laugh, the sound echoing off concrete walls. "It's way too early to start begging, Sterling."

Fear flashes across his face as I reach into my pocket. Not for a weapon—just my phone. I place it on the metal table beside us, then roll my shoulders, loosening the tension.

"You're going to tell me everything," I say, voice conversational now. "Every business partner. Every account number. Every property. Every man who touched Sienna."

His good eye narrows. "And why would I do that?"

I lean in close, my lips near his ear. "Because how long it takes determines how much you suffer before you die."

His face drains of color, but there's still calculation in his eyes. Still thinking he can find a way out .

"You won't kill me," he says, voice steadier now. "Too many connections would come after you. The Sartoris would?—"

"The Sartoris already know you're here." I step back, giving Alessio a nod. The Sartoris are our closest allies since we opened the Venetian Rose Casino together this year. "They're getting a percentage of your business once you're gone. Turns out loyalty can be bought—just not mine."

Alessio slides a metal case across the table. I pop the latches, revealing a neat row of implements. Sterling's eyes widen, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air.

I select the blade from the case, testing its weight. The fine edge catches the light from the single overhead bulb, sending a reflection across Sterling's face. His good eye follows the movement, pupils dilating with fear.

"We'll start simple," I say, voice calm like I'm discussing the weather. "A finger for every lie."

"This is insane," Sterling sputters. "I'm Henry Sterling. You can't just?—"

I slam the blade down, embedding it in the wooden arm of the chair between his fingers. He flinches, a whimper escaping his throat.

"That was a warning," I say. "Next time, I won't miss."

"Cortez. What exactly did you promise him regarding Sienna?"

Sterling's eyes dart between me and Alessio, calculating his odds. "Just... business. A marriage arrangement. Nothing?—"

I don't let him finish. My hand shoots out, gripping his pinky finger, bending it back until he screams.

"That sounded like a lie," I say, voice dropping lower. "Let's try again."

"Fuck! Fine!" Sweat pours down his face. "Cortez wanted exclusive access to her. I promised him she was untouched."

I let out a dark laugh. "We both know that's bullshit."

"Not untouched—" he gasps as I increase pressure on his finger. "Just... exclusive. No one else would touch her after him."

The rage building inside me is nuclear, but I keep my expression neutral. Control is everything in this room.

"Names," I demand. "Every man who touched her. Starting with the first."

"I don't... I don't remember them all," Sterling stammers.

My hand moves to the table, selecting pliers this time. Sterling's eyes widen, tracking the movement.

"Then start with the ones you do remember."

When he hesitates, I don't wait. I grab his hand, prying back his thumbnail with the pliers. His scream echoes off the concrete walls.

"Davenport!" he shouts. "Richard Davenport is one of them!"

Blood wells from beneath his nail as I ease the pressure slightly. "Keep going."

"Williams, Peters," he gasps, rattling off names between ragged breaths. "Jensen, Rodriguez..."

I commit each name to memory, a kill list forming in my head. Some I recognize—businessmen, politicians, men with wives and children who pretended to be respectable while abusing a teenage girl.

When he runs out of names, stuttering to a stop, I twist the pliers. Another scream tears from his throat.

"That's not all of them," I say, voice deadly quiet. "Not even close."

"I can't... I don't remember everyone," he pleads .

I put down the pliers and pick up a hammer, tapping it against my palm. "Then we'll have to jog your memory."

Sterling's eyes lock on the hammer, true terror dawning on his face. "Wait! Please! I have records—a black book in my office safe. Behind the painting of the Venice canal. Combination 38-24-17."

"Alessio," I say without turning. "Send someone to verify."

Alessio pulls out his phone, stepping away to make the call.

I lean in close to Sterling, whose breath comes in panicked gasps. "While we wait, let's discuss your wife."

"That was different," he says, attempting dignity despite the blood and sweat covering his face. "Charlotte needed treatment. She was unstable, a danger to herself?—"

The hammer connects with his kneecap before he can finish the lie. The crack of bone is followed by a howl of agony that bounces off the walls.

"Wrong words," I say, watching him writhe in pain. "Try again."

I stand in my mother's room, watching her flip through the pages of a thick folder. It's strange seeing her here—the woman I thought I'd lost forever. Her dark waves fall forward as she studies the financial documents, and I catch glimpses of myself in her delicate features.

"These accounts are extensive," she says, her voice still soft but gaining strength each day. "The trust fund my parents left... Henry never had legal right to most of it."

I perch on the edge of her bed, my fingers tracing patterns on the silk duvet. Everything in this house feels tainted by Henry's presence, even though he's gone.

"What are we going to do now?" I ask the question that's been burning inside me since we reunited.

Mom looks up, meeting my gaze. "Whatever we want, sweetheart. For the first time in years, we have choices."

I take a deep breath. "I think we should sell this house."

The words hang between us. This mansion has been our prison, not our home. Every corner holds memories of pain and isolation.

Mom sets down the folder and reaches for my hand. Her touch is still tentative, as if she's relearning how to offer comfort.

"I was thinking the same thing," she says. "I never want to spend another night under this roof."

Relief floods through me. "Really?"

She nods, a small smile forming. "This place was never ours, Sienna. It was just another way Henry controlled us." She gestures to the papers. "With what's in these accounts, we can start fresh anywhere."

"Where would we go?" The possibilities seem overwhelming after years of confinement.

"I'm not sure yet." She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so achingly familiar it makes my throat tight. "Maybe somewhere near the ocean? You've never seen the beach. "

I think of Enzo's promise to take me there someday. "I'd like that."

Mom squeezes my hand. "We'll sell everything. The house, the furnishings—all of it. Nothing here is worth keeping except what truly belongs to us."

"Just my photos and Grandma's jewelry box," I agree.

"And my few keepsakes." She looks around the room with determination in her eyes. "The rest can burn for all I care."

"We're really free, aren't we?" I whisper.

Mom pulls me into a gentle embrace. "Yes, my darling. And no one will ever cage us again."

I climb the grand staircase to my room—a space that never felt like mine.

The walls are too perfect, too pristine, like a museum display rather than a teenager's bedroom.

Opening the closet, I bypass the designer clothes Henry selected to showcase his "perfect daughter.

" Instead, I pull out a small box hidden behind shoe boxes.

Inside are the few treasures I managed to keep: photos of Mom and me from before, a dried flower from the garden Mom once tended, and a small notebook where I wrote poetry when I could sneak moments alone. These memories are all that matter from this place. My camera and some photos I've taken.

I grab a few books from the shelf. Classics that transported me away when reality became unbearable. As I tuck them into a bag, I notice the faded copy of Jane Eyre, its pages dog-eared from countless readings. The story of a woman finding her strength after suffering always gave me hope.

Downstairs, Mom waits in the foyer, her fingers nervously twisting the strap of her purse. Despite everything, she still moves with that innate grace that Henry could never beat out of her.

"I've been thinking," she says, her voice gaining confidence. "I should stay here until our new place is ready. Someone needs to oversee the sale and make sure Henry's associates don't try anything."

My heart sinks. "You're not coming with me?"

She takes my hands in hers. "It's just temporary, darling. A few weeks at most."

I nod slowly, understanding her need to reclaim some control.

"I'll come visit as much as I can," I promise. "But I need to do some things for myself too."

"Like what?" Her eyes are curious, no longer shadowed by fear.

"I want to get a phone—I've never had my own before. I want to walk down a street without being watched." My voice grows stronger with each word. "I want to feel the sun on my face without asking permission."

Mom's eyes fill with tears, but she smiles. "Yes. That's exactly what you should do."

"I need to learn how to be a person, Mom. A real one, not Henry's puppet."

She pulls me into a hug, her familiar scent enveloping me. "You already are, Sienna. You always were. You just need the space to remember that."

Mom's eyes light up as she remembers something. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small notebook.

"I've been going through all the financial documents. Henry kept everything meticulously organized—probably the only decent thing about him." She flips through the pages. "There are several credit cards connected to my trust accounts that he never let me access. "

My eyes widen. "He had cards in your name?"

She nods, a hint of anger flashing across her face. "Many things were in my name but controlled by him. The bank president is coming tomorrow to verify my identity and restore my access."

"That's amazing," I say, feeling a surge of happiness for her. This small reclamation of power means everything.

"Once I get the cards activated, I'll call you to come pick them up," she says, her voice gaining enthusiasm. "I want you to spend as much as you want, Sienna. Buy clothes you choose, books, anything that makes you happy."

The concept feels foreign—shopping without Henry's approval, without his critical eye evaluating every purchase. "Really? Anything?"

"Anything," she confirms with a smile. "For twenty-one years, you've had no choices. It's time to discover what you actually like."

I try to imagine walking into stores, selecting items based solely on my preferences. The freedom is dizzying.

"Maybe I'll buy jeans," I say, testing the idea. Henry always insisted on dresses and skirts, claiming pants were unladylike.

Mom laughs, the sound still rusty from disuse. "Buy ten pairs if you want. Buy those ripped ones teenagers wear. Buy whatever makes you feel like yourself."

"I don't even know what that is yet," I admit.

She touches my cheek gently. "That's the adventure, sweetheart. Finding out. I'll call you as soon as the cards are ready," Mom promises. "Probably tomorrow afternoon. Then we'll start building our new life, one purchase at a time."

I hear the sound of tires on gravel and glance out the window to see Enzo's black Audi pulling up the driveway. My heart skips a beat—a reaction I'm still getting used to. For so long, the sound of an arriving car meant danger, not excitement.

"He's here," I tell Mom, trying to keep my voice casual.

She smiles knowingly. "Go on. I'll call you tomorrow about those cards."

I kiss her cheek and hurry outside, my small bag of belongings clutched in my hand.

Enzo steps out of the car, and the sight of him still takes my breath away.

He's wearing dark jeans and a fitted black henley that shows off his powerful build.

His eyes find mine immediately, and that familiar intensity makes my skin warm.

"Hey," I say, suddenly shy.

Enzo takes my bag, his fingers brushing mine. "That's all you're bringing?"

"That's all I want from this place."

He nods, understanding without needing explanation. After placing my bag in the back seat, he opens the passenger door for me. These small gestures of care still surprise me.

Once we're driving away from the mansion, I feel the tension leave my body. Enzo glances over, his hand finding mine across the console.

"What would you like to do now?" he asks.

I consider for a moment. The world is suddenly full of possibilities, and it's overwhelming. But there's one thing I know for certain—I want to be alone with him, away from everyone else.

"Could we go to your cabin?" I ask. "Just the two of us?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, dimple appearing in his left cheek. "Miss me already, tesoro?"

"Maybe." I feel a blush warming my cheeks.

"We can go there if you want." His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "Though I'm starting to think you just want to get me alone to seduce me."

I laugh, the sound surprising me with its freedom. "Is it working?"

"Fucking hell, Sienna." His voice drops lower, that Italian accent becoming more pronounced. "You don't need to try. I've been thinking about you all day."

Feeling bold, I lean closer to him. "I want to lick you again," I whisper.

Enzo's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Christ," he mutters, then shoots me a heated look. "You can't say shit like that when I'm driving."

"Why not?" I ask innocently, enjoying the effect I have on him.

"Because I'll crash this fucking car trying to get us there faster."