Page 51 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

SIX MONTHS LATER

I check myself one last time in the full-length mirror, smoothing the silky fabric of my dark blue dress. It's with a modest neckline and a hemline that falls just above my knee.

"How do I look?" I ask, my voice betraying more nervousness than I'd like. "Is this appropriate for meeting the Sartori family?"

Ever since Damiano and Zoe's baby girl arrived three weeks ago, Enzo's responsibilities have shifted. Tonight marks the first time he'll be leading a meeting with the Sartoris without his brother, and somehow, I've been invited along.

"Am I overdressed? Underdressed?" I tug at the fabric. "I've never done this before. "

I watch Enzo's reflection as he crosses our bedroom toward me. His suit fits him perfectly. Charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie that somehow matches my dress exactly. I wonder if Lucrezia coordinated that behind the scenes.

"You look..." Enzo's voice trails off as he moves behind me, his hands settling on my hips.

His touch ignites that familiar warmth inside me, the one that hasn't dimmed since our first kiss. He presses himself against my back, his body firm and warm against mine. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and the heat in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"You look perfect," he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot below my ear. "Too perfect."

I lean back against him, savoring his strength. "Too perfect?"

His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me more firmly against him. "If I wasn't concerned about Riccardo Sartori's notorious punctuality, I'd suggest we skip the meeting entirely."

I can feel exactly how much he likes my outfit pressed against me, and a small smile curves my lips. Eight months ago, I couldn't imagine being touched without flinching. Now, I crave Enzo's hands on me.

"The Sartoris would understand," I tease, turning in his arms to face him. "Everyone's still talking about how Damiano missed three meetings last week because Sofia wouldn't stop crying."

Enzo laughs, the sound warming me from within. "That's different. They expect new parents to be sleep-deprived disasters." His fingers trace my cheekbone. "They expect the terrifying Enzo Feretti to be punctual and focused. "

"Terrifying?" I reach up to straighten his already perfect tie. "I don't see anything terrifying about you."

His eyes darken slightly. "That's because you know things about me no one else does."

I think about the man who reads classic literature with his mother's notes in the margins, who taught me to play Uno with dramatic flair, who holds me through nightmares without complaint.

"I know exactly who you are," I whisper, stretching up to kiss him softly.

He deepens the kiss instantly, one hand sliding up my back while the other cups my face. For a moment, I forget all about the Sartoris, about responsibilities, about anything beyond the taste of him.

When he pulls back, his pupils are dilated, and his thumb traces my lower lip. "We really should go."

I nod, trying to collect myself. "Yes, we should."

Neither of us moves.

"Riccardo values punctuality," he reminds me, though his hand is now sliding down my side, tracing the curve of my waist.

"Absolutely," I agree, even as my fingers slip beneath his suit jacket, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. "Very important to make a good impression."

Our eyes meet in the mirror again—his dark and intent, mine bright with something that might be happiness.

"Five more minutes," Enzo decides, turning me back toward the mirror, his hands possessive on my hips. "Just five."

I walk alongside Enzo toward the balcony of the Sartori mansion, his hand resting lightly against my back. The estate rivals the Feretti compound in size and grandeur, though the style here leans more toward modern minimalism with its sleek glass surfaces and clean lines.

"There they are," Enzo murmurs as we step onto the expansive balcony overlooking manicured gardens. "Right on time."

Riccardo Sartori stands by the railing, drink in hand, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the golden light of sunset.

Beside him, his wife Ava looks elegant in a simple black dress, her dark hair swept into a sophisticated updo.

And lounging in one of the plush chairs is Vittoria, Riccardo's younger sister, with her signature pixie cut and an outfit that somehow manages to be both edgy and appropriate for the occasion.

"Enzo," Riccardo greets, stepping forward to shake his hand firmly. "And Sienna. Lovely to see you both again."

I offer a small smile, still getting used to these social situations. "Thank you for having us."

"How's little Sofia doing?" Ava asks, handing me a glass of white wine. "I've been meaning to stop by with another gift, but I hear new parents need space more than presents."

"She's beautiful," I reply, accepting the wine with a grateful nod. "And loud. Very, very loud."

This draws laughter from the group, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease. I've met the Sartoris before at the casino opening in July, but this dinner feels more intimate, more significant somehow.

"I still can't believe Damiano Feretti is changing diapers," Vittoria chimes in, her bright green eyes dancing with amusement. "The world truly is full of surprises. "

Enzo smirks. "If you told me a year ago that my brother would be singing lullabies at three in the morning, I'd have questioned your sanity."

"And how are you adjusting to taking point on our joint ventures?" Riccardo asks, gesturing for us to take seats around the table. "The transition has been smooth from our perspective."

I watch Enzo shift into business mode, his posture straightening slightly as he discusses the casino operations and several other ventures I'm still learning about. I sip my wine and listen, admiring how easily he navigates these waters.

"The renovations on the west wing of the casino are on schedule," Enzo is saying. "The new high-limit rooms should be operational by next month."

"Excellent," Riccardo nods. "And the new staff training program Ava developed?"

"Implemented across all departments," Enzo confirms. "Turnover has decreased by twelve percent already."

Ava smiles, pleased. "That's even better than I projected."

"Sienna," Vittoria says, turning her attention to me, "Ava mentioned you're taking photography classes at the university? How's that going?"

I feel a flash of pride. "It's challenging but wonderful. My professor has already asked if I'd consider submitting work to the student exhibition next semester."

"You should," Ava encourages. "From what I've seen of your work, you have a unique perspective."

"That abandoned factory series was particularly striking," Riccardo adds, surprising me with his knowledge of my photography.

I glance at Enzo, who's watching me with quiet pride. He's been encouraging me to share my work more widely, even setting up a small home studio in one of the spare rooms at the mansion.

"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched. "It means a lot to hear that."

A server appears at the balcony doors, announcing that dinner is ready. As we stand to move inside, Enzo's hand finds the small of my back again, a gentle, grounding touch.

"You're doing great," he whispers close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

I lean slightly into his touch, drawing strength from his presence as we follow our hosts inside.

The candlelight flickers across the elegant table as we settle into the main course—a perfectly prepared steak with roasted vegetables.

"So the Harrison deal is progressing well?" Riccardo asks, cutting his steak with precise movements.

Enzo nods beside me. "Better than expected. The property acquisition should be finalized by the end of the month."

I take a sip of my wine, my mind drifting to another business matter that had caused tension for months. The Williams family. After Henry's death, they'd emerged from the shadows with their demands—an eight-million-dollar loan repayment and my hand in marriage to James Williams, of all things.

I remember how Enzo had come to bed late one night, tension radiating from his shoulders after yet another meeting about the Williams situation. When I'd asked him about it, he'd been honest—telling me about their persistent pressure, their veiled threats to involve authorities.

"We could just pay them," I'd suggested hesitantly, still adjusting to having access to my mother's trust fund. "Eight million is nothing compared to what the trust holds."

Enzo had shaken his head firmly. "This isn't about money. It's about what they think they're entitled to. You."

The thought of James Williams still makes my skin crawl. I'd only met him twice at my father's business functions, but his cold eyes and proprietary gaze had told me everything I needed to know.

In the end, Enzo had paid them their money. "A business expense," he'd called it when I protested. The Williams family had pushed for months afterward, trying to establish deeper business connections, suggesting partnerships and joint ventures.

The Ferettis had considered it, discussed it thoroughly in family meetings, but ultimately declined. "Some money isn't worth the company you have to keep to get it," Damiano had said.

"Sienna?"

I blink, realizing Ava has asked me something. "I'm sorry, I was miles away."

She smiles warmly. "I was asking about your mother. How is she settling into her new place in Boston?"

"She's doing well," I reply, grateful for the change in subject. "The therapy is helping. Being near her sister seems to be good for her recovery."

"Recovery takes time," Vittoria says, her voice softening in a way that makes me wonder if she has her own demons. "But family helps. It always helps."

"Speaking of family," Riccardo says, turning to Enzo, "I heard the Williams have been quite persistent about establishing deeper ties with the Feretti organization."

I tense slightly, surprised at the coincidence with my thoughts .