Page 17 of Ruined By Blood
"Breakfast?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Yes, Enzo. It's this meal people eat in the morning," she says with exaggerated patience. "Family breakfast might help her see we're not monsters. Besides, Ettore's making those pastries you like."
I consider this. A casual setting might lower Sienna's defenses where formal interrogation failed.
"You think she'll come?"
"I don't know," Lucrezia admits. "But it's worth trying. She needs to see that we're actual people, not just the scary Feretti brothers who run a criminal empire."
"I don't know how to get her to trust me. Every time I try, she looks at me like I'm going to hurt her."
"You're not exactly approachable," Lucrezia says, lips quirking. "Your default expression is 'I might kill someone today.'"
"That's because I might," I shoot back.
Her smile widens. "I'll handle getting her comfortable. Just try not to glower at her across the table."
"I don't glower."
"You absolutely glower." She stands, smoothing her skirt. "Trust my judgment on this, okay? You do the scary business stuff, I'll handle the human connection part."
I nod, knowing she's right. "I trust you, Luce. You've always been better with people anyway."
"Did the great Enzo Feretti just admit I'm better at something?" She presses a hand to her chest in mock shock. "I should record this moment for posterity."
"Get out of my room," I say, but there's no heat in it.
She walks to the door, pausing before she leaves. "She's suffered, Enzo. More than you realize. Be patient."
After she's gone, I find myself smiling. That's the sister I know—sharp, perceptive, and tough as hell under herartistic exterior. The trauma dimmed her fire but didn't extinguish it. That badass attitude is exactly what our family needs right now, though I'll never tell her that.
I'm staring at the ceiling when a soft knock echoes through the room. My body tenses automatically.
"Sienna?" Lucrezia's voice filters through the wood. "Are you awake?"
I sit up, pulling the blanket around my shoulders like armor. "Yes."
The door opens, and Lucrezia steps in. Unlike yesterday, she's dressed in black jeans and a flowing top, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulder. There's something about her that feels almost normal—like she exists in a different universe than the men who own this house.
"Good morning," she says, smiling. "I thought you might be hungry. We're having a family breakfast downstairs, and I wanted to invite you to join us."
My stomach clenches at the word "family"—a twisted concept in my experience. But it also growls loud enough for both of us to hear, betraying my need for food.
Lucrezia's smile widens. "After we eat, can I show you around the house? There's a beautiful garden, and my art studio if you're interested."
I press my lips together, weighing her offer against the fear of encountering Enzo again. Part of me wants to refuse, to stay hidden in this room until I figure out my next move. But another part—the part that's been starved of normal human interaction for years—leans toward her warmth.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say, twisting the edge of the blanket between my fingers. "Your brother?—"
"Is intense, I know." Lucrezia sits at the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd me. "But he won't bite at breakfast, I promise. Besides, Ettore made Belgian waffles with fresh berries."
My stomach growls again, louder this time. When was the last time I had a real breakfast? Not the nutritionally balanced but joyless meals my father's staff prepared, but actual food meant to be enjoyed?
Lucrezia waits, patient and still. Unlike her brother, she doesn't press or demand. The silence between us feels almost comfortable.
"Okay," I finally say, the decision surprising even me.
Her face lights up. "Perfect! There are clothes in the closet that should fit you. Take your time—I'll wait in the hall."
