Page 54 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I kiss the constellation of scars on Sienna's shoulder as she sleeps peacefully beside me.

The early morning light casts golden shadows across her skin, making her glow like something ethereal.

Six months ago, she couldn't bear to be touched.

Now she sleeps soundly in my arms, trusting me completely.

Fucking miracle.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Damiano. I carefully extract myself from Sienna, pressing one more kiss to her temple before slipping out of bed.

"What?" I answer, keeping my voice low as I walk to the kitchen.

"Need you at the casino. Ten o'clock." Damiano's voice is clipped, all business.

"Problem?"

"No. Just checking operations. The quarterly numbers are in."

I glance at the clock. Eight thirty. "I'll be there."

When I return to the bedroom, Sienna has rolled into the warm spot I left behind, her face buried in my pillow. I smile despite myself.

I leave a note on the nightstand letting her know where I'll be, then shower and dress for the day ahead. She likes notes more than texts.

T he Venetian Rose gleams in the morning light, all polished marble and crystal under the watchful eyes of my security team. As I stride through the main floor, the staff straighten, nodding respectfully. This place will always remind me of Sienna. That first night at the bar.

I find Damiano in the high-stakes room, reviewing paperwork with Vincent, our floor manager.

"Numbers look good," Damiano says as I approach. "Up twelve percent from last quarter."

"The new blackjack tables are bringing in the right crowd," I say, scanning the reports over his shoulder.

Vincent leaves us, and Damiano gestures toward his office. Once inside, he drops the formality, loosening his tie and pouring us both a finger of whiskey. It's not even noon, but that's never stopped either of us.

"Did the Sartori meeting go well?" he asks, though he already knows from my report last night .

"Vittoria seemed impressed with the security upgrades. Riccardo signed off on the expansion."

"And Sienna? She handled herself well?"

I can't help the pride that surges through me. "Better than well. She charmed them completely."

Damiano nods, satisfied. "She's adapting."

"She's thriving," I correct him. The broken girl from the fountain is gone. In her place stands a woman who wakes up every day stronger than before.

"Good." He takes a sip of his whiskey, then sets the glass down with purpose. "We have a shipment coming in from Mexico next week. Electronics, primarily, but some specialty items buried beneath. Need someone to oversee the transfer."

My mind immediately shifts to logistics. "Port security?"

"Handled. But I need someone I trust on the ground. Someone who can manage any complications."

I think about the schedule, who's available, who's best suited. "Noah," I say without hesitation. "He's not tasked with much these days. Since the Sterling situation was resolved, he's been handling routine security."

Damiano sips his whiskey, studying me over the rim of his glass. "I figured you'd suggest yourself. You always manage the Mexican shipments."

"Noah's more than capable," I say with a shrug. "Besides, I've got that charity event with Sienna next week."

"The photography exhibition," Damiano nods. "Good. You're learning to delegate."

I raise an eyebrow. "I've always delegated."

"No," Damiano laughs, "you've always micromanaged. There's a difference. You're the one who always needs to know who is where, doing what, at all times. "

He's not wrong. I like control. Need it, even. But things are different now. Sienna changed that.

"I'll call Noah," I say, pulling out my phone.

I dial his number, and it rings three times before he picks up. In the background, I hear what sounds like a soprano hitting a high note, accompanied by a full orchestra.

"Feretti," Noah answers, his voice low.

"Where the hell are you?" I ask, frowning. "Is that opera?"

There's a pause, a rustle of movement. The music fades slightly.

"TV," Noah says flatly. "What do you need?"

I glance at Damiano, who's watching me with amusement. "Mexican shipment next week. Electronics with specialty items. I need you to oversee the transfer at the port."

"Details?"

"I'll send them to your secure email. Tuesday night, probably around midnight."

"Done." Noah's voice gives nothing away. "Anything else?"

"No. Just be thorough."

"Always am." He hangs up without another word.

I pocket my phone, shaking my head. "TV my ass. That was live music."

Damiano laughs, leaning back in his chair. "You know, Noah's shown surprising taste in music lately. Ever since my wedding when that violinist performed."

I narrow my eyes. "You think Noah's at the fucking opera because of your wedding violinist?"

Damiano shrugs, his expression innocent but his eyes calculating. "Our Noah, developing cultural interests. Stranger things have happened."

"Like you becoming a father?" I shoot back.

He grins, the rare, genuine smile that only thoughts of Zoe and Sofia can bring out. "Exactly like that."

I drain my whiskey, setting the glass down with a decisive click. Noah's private life is his business. As long as he handles the shipment, I don't give a fuck if he's suddenly developed a passion for opera, ballet, or underwater basket weaving.

"Anything else you need me for?" I ask.

Damiano shakes his head. "No. Go back to Sienna."

"That's the plan." I stand, straightening my jacket. "Tell Zoe we'll see you Sunday for dinner."

As I walk out of the casino into the bright morning light, I find myself wondering about Noah. The man's a ghost. Appearing when needed, vanishing when not. The idea of him sitting in a concert hall, listening to classical music, seems absurdly out of character.

But then again, who would have predicted I'd be settled, planning Sunday family dinners?

Life takes unexpected turns.

S unday morning light filters through our bedroom windows, painting golden patterns across Sienna's skin.

Her hair spreads across my chest like dark silk, her breathing soft and even as she wakes.

I watch her eyes flutter open, that moment of confusion before recognition settles in, followed by the smile that still fucking wrecks me every time.

"Morning," she whispers, voice husky with sleep .

I tangle my fingers in her hair, tugging gently to tilt her face up. "Morning, piccola."

She stretches against me like a cat, all soft curves and warm skin. The sheet slips down, exposing her shoulder.

"What time is family dinner?" she mumbles against my neck.

"Not until four." I slide my hand down her spine, feeling each vertebra beneath my fingers. "We have hours."

Her lips curve against my skin. "Hours for what?"

I roll her beneath me in one fluid motion, caging her with my body. "For whatever you want."

The smile that spreads across her face holds none of the fear that haunted her when we first met. There's mischief there now, confidence. She pushes against my chest until I roll onto my back, watching as she straddles me, her thighs bracketing my hips.

"What if I want to be in charge this morning?" she asks, trailing her fingers down my chest.

Heat surges through me, my cock hardening instantly beneath her. "Then take what's yours."

Her eyes darken as she leans down, her hair creating a curtain around us as she brushes her lips against mine. "Mine," she whispers, the word still new on her tongue.

My hands find her hips, steadying her as she shifts her weight. "Yours," I agree, voice rough with wanting her.

She kisses me slow and deep, her tongue sliding against mine as her body presses closer. I let her lead, giving her the control. My reward is the soft sound she makes when I slide my hands up her sides to cup her breasts.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Matteo's name. I ignore it, focusing instead on the way Sienna's breath catches when I brush my thumbs across her nipples .

"Your phone," she murmurs against my lips.

"Don't care," I reply, capturing her mouth again.

She smiles into the kiss, rolling her hips in a way that makes me groan. Just as she positions herself to take me inside her, the phone buzzes again. Matteo. Again.

"Might be important," she says, though her body remains poised above mine.

I growl in frustration, reaching for the phone without dislodging her. "It better be fucking life or death."

The look of amusement on Sienna's face as she watches me is worth every inconvenience. That playful expression is still new, still precious. A reminder of how far she's come, of the woman emerging from beneath the trauma.

I answer the call with more force than necessary. "What?"

"It's about Noah," Matteo's voice cuts through my frustration, all business.

I sit up straighter, instantly alert. Noah never needs backup unless shit has gone catastrophically wrong. "What happened?"

Sienna slides off me, wrapping the sheet around herself as she watches my face. I can feel her tension from here – she's learned to read the shifts in my tone.

"He took a woman to his apartment last night. Evelyn Anderson."

"Anderson?" The name rings familiar, but I can't place it immediately.

"The violinist. Three men attacked her. Noah stepped in, killed them all." Matteo's voice lowers. "He took her to his place."

My blood runs cold. Noah doesn't break protocol, and he certainly doesn't bring civilians to his private residence. "He what? "

"Says he couldn't leave her. The men were Volkov's."

"You're sure?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for my clothes. Ivan Volkov's organization encroaching on our territory means serious fucking trouble.

"Positive. They had the tattoo – the one all Volkov's men share. The eagle on their wrists."

"Fuck." I run a hand through my hair. "Where's Noah now?"

"Still at his apartment with the woman. She's... shaken up. He says he's not leaving her."

That doesn't sound like Noah at all.

"Tell him I'm coming over. And Matteo? Keep this quiet. No one outside our immediate circle needs to know about this until we figure out what Volkov is playing at."

I end the call and turn to find Sienna already pulling on her clothes, her movements efficient and precise.

"What happened?" she asks, concern etched across her features.

"Noah's gotten himself into something complicated." I grab my shirt, buttons flying as I yank it on. "He killed three of Volkov's men last night. Took a woman to his place."

Sienna's hands freeze on her zipper. "Noah brought someone to his apartment? The same Noah who doesn't let anyone of you get there?"

"The very same." I holster my gun at my back, habit more than immediate need. "Violinist named Evelyn Anderson."

Recognition flashes across Sienna's face. "I've heard of her. She was featured in that arts magazine last month. Why would Volkov's men attack her?"

"That's what I intend to find out." I cross to her, cupping her face in my hands. "I need to handle this. You stay here."

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking or telling? "

The question isn't combative – it's a genuine check-in. Six months ago, I would have simply ordered her to stay put. Now I know better.

"Asking," I clarify, pressing my forehead to hers. "This could be dangerous. Volkov doesn't send his men after random civilians."

I stroke my thumb across her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. The woman standing before me is so different from the broken girl I found at the casino. That haunted look in her eyes has been replaced by determination, by strength.

"I'll wait for you," she says, covering my hand with hers. "Just be careful."

Something in her concern tugs at parts of me I never knew existed before her. In the past I wouldn't have thought twice about walking into danger. Now I have someone waiting for me to come back.

"I will." I press my lips to her forehead. "Lock the door behind me. Call Damiano if anything feels wrong."

She nods, then tilts her head up to meet my eyes. "I mean it, Enzo. Be careful. I just found what home feels like. I'm not ready to lose it."

Home. After everything she's been through, she's found home with me. Me—a man with blood-stained hands and a soul scarred by violence.

"Piccola," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her against my chest. "Before you, I was just surviving. Going through motions, doing my duty. You gave me something to live for."

I feel her breath catch, her fingers curling into my shirt.

"I failed to protect my sister once," I continue, voice rough with emotion I once would have considered weakness. "I thought keeping you safe was about redemption. It wasn't. It was about finding the missing piece of myself I didn't know was gone."

Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she looks up at me. "I love you, Enzo Feretti," she says, the words fierce and certain. "Not because you saved me. Because you showed me I was strong enough to save myself."

I take her face in my hands, memorizing every detail—the slight flush on her cheeks, the determined set of her jaw, the trust in her eyes that I've done nothing to deserve and everything to earn.

"Ti amo, Sienna," I tell her, the Italian flowing naturally when emotion overwhelms me. "With everything I am. With everything I have. With everything I'll ever be."

The kiss that follows burns through me like wildfire, consuming every doubt, every fear.

Her mouth opens under mine, hungry and demanding.

I pour everything I can't say into that kiss—my promise to return, my vow to protect what we've built, my certainty that she is the only thing in this world that matters.

When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, I rest my forehead against hers.

"I'll be back soon," I promise.

"You better be," she says, a hint of steel beneath the softness. "I'll be waiting. On our bed."

I grin at the promise in her words. "On our bed, huh? Making it hard for a man to leave."

"That's the idea," she says, fingers trailing down my chest. "Give you something to hurry back for."

My body tightens with want, and I grab her wrist, pressing my lips to her pulse point. "Keep looking at me like that, and Noah's problems will have to wait."

She pushes at my chest playfully. "Go. Handle whatever mess Noah's created. The faster you go, the faster you return."

With one last lingering look, I force myself to turn and walk out. I wait in the hallway until I hear the deadbolt slide into place, then head for the elevator.

By the time I reach the garage, my mind has shifted fully to the problem at hand. Noah doesn't make mistakes. He doesn't break protocol. And he sure as fuck doesn't bring random women to his apartment, no matter how much danger they might be in.

What new hell have we stumbled into now?