Page 52 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

Enzo's face remains impassive as he takes a sip of his whiskey. "They were. We settled their financial concerns, but declined further entanglements."

"Wise choice," Riccardo nods approvingly. "I've had dealings with Peter Williams. The man has no concept of boundaries."

Enzo's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently in support.

T he dinner with the Sartoris stretches pleasantly into the evening. By the time we say our goodbyes, I feel a strange sense of accomplishment. These social functions—business disguised as pleasure—no longer terrify me the way they once did.

"It was lovely seeing you again," Ava says, embracing me with genuine warmth.

Riccardo shakes Enzo's hand once more. "We'll finalize those details next week."

Outside, the cool night air kisses my skin as Enzo leads me to the sleek black Lamborghini Aventador parked in the circular drive.

Even after six months, I still feel a little thrill at the sight of his collection of supercars.

He needs to name them to me though. I can't know the difference between them.

"You did beautifully tonight," Enzo says, opening the passenger door for me.

I slide into the low leather seat, careful with my dress. "I'm getting better at pretending to understand business talk."

Enzo chuckles as he settles behind the wheel. The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble that I feel deep in my chest.

"You understand more than you think," he says, pulling away from the Sartori estate with smooth precision.

The city lights blur as we speed down the empty highway. Enzo drives like he does everything else—with absolute control and just enough recklessness to make my heart race. His right hand leaves the steering wheel, finding my knee and sliding up my thigh.

"Enzo," I breathe, my body instantly responding to his touch. "You're driving."

His lips curl into that dangerous smile that still makes my stomach flip. "I'm very good at multitasking, piccola."

His fingers trace slow circles on my inner thigh, inching higher with each pass. The car accelerates, and so does my pulse.

"Remember when you couldn't even look me in the eye?" he asks, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that's only for me. "Now look at you—charming the Sartoris, pursuing your photography, making me crazy just sitting there in that dress."

Heat blooms across my skin as his hand slips beneath the hem of my dress. I bite my lip, fighting to maintain composure.

"Eyes on the road," I manage to say, though it comes out more breathless than stern.

"My eyes are exactly where they need to be," he counters, but he does return his attention to driving. Without removing his hand.

By the time we reach downtown, I'm flushed and fighting the urge to climb into his lap, traffic laws be damned. Enzo turns down a tree-lined street of renovated historical buildings, pulling into the private underground garage of our building .

Two months ago, Enzo surprised me with keys to this place—a sprawling loft apartment in a converted textile factory, just three blocks from the university where I take my photography classes.

Twelve million dollars, I later discovered, though he'd dismissed the figure with a wave of his hand when I'd gasped at the amount.

"It's an investment," he'd said. "And it's close to your school."

The real reason, I suspect, was to give me a space that was truly ours, something new we created together.

The garage door closes behind us, and before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, Enzo is out of the car and opening my door. His eyes have that intense focus that still makes my knees weak.

"Home sweet home," I murmur as he helps me from the car, his hands lingering on my waist.

"Not yet," he says, backing me against the sleek black door of the Lamborghini. "I'm not done with you yet."

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that steals my breath, his body pressing mine into the cool metal of the car. His hands slide down to grip my thighs, lifting me slightly.

"Upstairs," I gasp against his lips. "Please, upstairs."

I feel his smile against my mouth. "Always so polite, even when you're begging."

In the elevator, Enzo pins me against the mirrored wall, his mouth hot and demanding on mine. The cool surface shocks my bare back through the thin silk of my dress. His hands trace the curve of my hips, rough yet familiar.

"Every time you wear a dress," he murmurs against my lips, "all I think about is taking it off you." His teeth graze my bottom lip, sending sparks through my veins.

The elevator chimes at our floor. Enzo breaks the kiss but keeps one hand at my back as he guides me out .

Our loft unfolds before us—soaring ceilings with exposed steel beams, vast windows framing the glittering Chicago skyline, minimalist furniture bathed in moonlight. We barely make it through the door before he spins me, pinning me against the cool metal grain.

"My dress," I protest weakly as his mouth travels down my neck.

"Is replaceable," he growls, fingers already working at the zipper. The rasp feels deafening in the quiet space. "You're not."

The red silk pools at my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but lace panties and strappy heels. Enzo steps back, his hooded gaze drinking me in with such intensity it feels like a physical touch. I shiver despite the warmth radiating from him.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his knuckles tracing the edge of one scar along my ribs—a cigarette burn from another lifetime. He does this often, mapping every mark with reverence rather than pity. "Every inch of you."

He strips off his jacket and tie with quick movements. I watch, entranced, as he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the intricate tattoo across his collarbone—sword through a black rose, prayer hands beneath. His hands are weapons. His hands are worshipped.

I reach for him, my fingers trembling as they brush his jaw. "Enzo?—"

He captures my wrist, pressing a kiss to my racing pulse. "What do you need, piccola mia? Tell me."

The question still catches me off guard. The luxury of choice. The power in my voice.

"You," I whisper, stepping into the fevered heat of his body. "Just you. "

His arms band around me, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me through the open space, toward our shadowed bedroom. His heartbeat thrums against my chest.

In the moonlit bedroom, he lowers me onto the cool linen sheets. His shirt joins my dress somewhere on the floor. The sight of him—all lethal grace and sculpted muscle, the intricate wings tattoo spanning his back—still steals my breath.

He braces himself over me, caging me in. The familiar scent of cedar and gunpowder envelops me. His lips find mine again, slower this time, deeper. A claiming. A promise. His fingers trace the lace edge of my panties.

"These," he murmurs against my mouth, "have to go."

My gasp dissolves into his kiss as his hand slips beneath the fabric. I arch against him, my nails digging into the hard planes of his back.

"Enzo—" It's half-sigh, half-plea.

"Sì, amore mio," he breathes, nibbling a path along my jaw. "I've got you."

His fingers dance lower, finding my slick heat, and I cry out as sensation crashes through me.

Every nerve ending sparks. Every fear dissolves.

There's only him. Only this. His thumb circles the sensitive bundle of nerves while one finger slides inside me.

My hips buck against his hand, chasing the pleasure only he gives me.

"Look at me," he commands.

I force my eyes open, meeting his molten gaze. The connection is as intimate as his touch.

" I want to taste you," I breathe against his collarbone. The admission makes my cheeks burn, but the hunger in his eyes fans the heat lower. "Everywhere."

A low groan rumbles in his chest. "Dio, woman." His hands tighten on my hips. "And I want to taste all of you."

Before I can blink, Enzo flips us. He settles onto his back against the pillows, his hands lifting me until I'm kneeling over him. "Come here, baby."

He guides me higher, my thighs trembling as I straddle his face. Cool air kisses my exposed skin a moment before his hot mouth presses against my core through the soaked lace. I gasp, bracing my hands on the headboard.

"Enzo—"

His fingers hook into my panties, tearing them away.

Then his tongue is on me, licking a long, slow stripe through my soaked folds.

My legs shake. He devours me like a starving man.

His tongue circles my clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until I cry out.

One broad hand grips my ass, holding me in place as his tongue plunges inside me. Deep. Possessive.

Below me, his cock stands thick and hard against his stomach. The sight makes my mouth water. I lower myself, bracing my knees beside his ribs, and lean forward. My tongue flicks across the swollen head, tasting salt and musk.

Enzo growls against me, the vibrations making me shudder. His teeth graze my inner thigh before his tongue returns, laving my clit with firm, rhythmic strokes. He slips a finger inside me, curling it just right.

"God, you taste like heaven," he murmurs against me .

I take more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the thick shaft. Beneath me, his hips lift off the bed. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass. "Suck me, baby. Harder."

I obey, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His groan vibrates through my entire body. His mouth abandons my clit only to press lower, his tongue circling the tight pucker of my ass. The shock of pleasure makes me jerk against his face. He holds me firm, his tongue probing, claiming.

"Enzo!" His name tears from my throat. I'm trembling, my thighs slick with my own arousal and his saliva.

He lifts his head for a breath, his voice ragged. "I love watching you come apart on my tongue."

Then he's back, licking and sucking both my holes with relentless focus. His fingers replace his tongue inside my pussy, pumping in and out in counterpoint to the wicked things his mouth is doing below. The dual sensation sends sparks through my veins.

I moan around his cock, taking him as deep as I can.

Saliva drips down his shaft. My hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth as pleasure coils tighter in my belly.

His tongue flicks over my clit again and I moan, my ass arching.

My orgasm slams into me, stealing my breath, making my vision swim.

Enzo shouts. "Oh fuck!"

Hot spurts of cum hit my tongue, the roof of my mouth. I swallow instinctively, milking him with my lips and tongue until his hips fall back to the bed with a low groan. His mouth still moves against me, gentler now, soothing as I come down from my own climax.

For long moments, the only sounds are our ragged breathing and the slick slide of his tongue as he cleans my own release from my trembling thighs. I collapse beside him.