Page 132 of Ruined By Blood
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, stilladjusting 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.
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.
The 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.
