Page 101 of Ruined By Blood
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 herusual 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."
CHAPTER 33
Ihaven't slept. My body aches from Henry's blows, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the storm in my mind. The clock on my nightstand reads 11:27 a.m, the red numbers glowing like accusatory eyes in the darkness.
The lock on my bedroom door clicks. I don't bother sitting up. It's probably another maid with food I won't eat, or medication I'll pretend to take.
"Miss Sterling? I've brought you some tea." A soft voice, tentative.
I don't answer. The young maid—Sarah, I think—places the tray on my bedside table and hovers for a moment.
"Is there anything else you need, Miss Sterling?"
What I need, she can't give me. Freedom. Enzo. My mother.
"No," I whisper, my voice rough from disuse. "Thank you."
She leaves, the lock clicking back into place. I stare at the ceiling, counting the shadows.
Four meals have come and gone since Henry's attack. Four trays returned untouched. Food seems pointless now.
I pull myself from the bed, wincing as my bruised ribs protest.
My fingers find the small remote on the dresser. Music has always been my escape, the one thing Henry couldn't take from me completely. I press play, and soft piano notes fill the room.
"Tale as old as time..."
I close my eyes as the familiar melody washes over me. Beauty and the Beast. A fairytale about finding love in unexpected places. How ironic that I found mine in the arms of a man others call monster.
I sink to the floor, back against the wall, and let the music carry me away from these gilded prison walls. Songs about love and hope and happy endings flow one into another. Stories of people meeting, falling in love, building lives together.
