Page 18 of Ruined By Blood
When she leaves, I sit frozen for a moment, questioning my decision. Sharing a meal with the Ferettis means lowering my guard. It means giving them one more piece of me that they could use against me later.
But I'm so hungry. And tired of being alone with my fear.
I push myself off the bed and head toward the closet, hoping I'm not making a terrible mistake.
I rifle through the closet, finding a selection of clothes that look expensive but comfortable—jeans, soft sweaters,t-shirts. I choose dark jeans and a loose-fitting blue sweater that covers most of my bruises. The fabric feels gentle against my tender skin.
As I dress, my mind races with what awaits me downstairs. A family breakfast. The word "family" has never meant safety to me. In my experience, family means ownership, control, and pain carefully hidden behind closed doors.
I brush my hair with shaking hands, staring at my reflection. Who will be at this breakfast?
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I can do this. I've handled worse situations, survived worse men. I just need to stay alert, watch for opportunities, and never, ever trust completely.
When I step into the hallway, Lucrezia beams at me.
"That color suits you," she says, gesturing to the sweater.
We walk through the corridor, my eyes cataloging every turn, every door, every potential escape route. The mansion is massive, with high ceilings and artwork that probably costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
"Almost there," Lucrezia says, her voice bright with a casualness I can't comprehend.
The dining room appears ahead, voices filtering out. My steps falter. Lucrezia notices and slows her pace.
"It's okay," she whispers. "They don't bite. Well, Damiano might, but only if you steal his coffee."
I don't smile at her joke. Every muscle in my body tightens as we enter the room.
Four people sit around a large table covered with platters of food. They all look up as we enter, conversation stopping abruptly. I freeze in the doorway, feeling exposed under their collective gaze.
Lucrezia gently takes my hand. "Come sit by me," she says, tugging me toward an empty chair beside hers.
I follow stiffly, keeping my eyes down.
"Everyone, this is Sienna," Lucrezia announces. "Sienna, this is my family."
She points around the table. "My brother Damiano, his wife Zoe, our consigliere Alessio, and you've already met Enzo."
I hesitate, acutely aware of all eyes on me. My instinct is to disappear, to make myself as small and forgettable as possible. But I can't just stand here frozen.
"Good morning," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Morning, Sienna," Zoe says with a warm smile. She has kind eyes that don't match what I'd expect from a mafia wife. "How did you sleep?"
"Fine. Thank you," I answer automatically, the polite response drilled into me since childhood.
Damiano nods in acknowledgment, his eyes assessing but not cold.
Alessio, the one Lucrezia called their consigliere, offers a reserved smile. "Good to see you up and about."
Enzo says nothing, but his gaze feels heavy on my skin. When I dare to glance at him, his expression is unreadable, his attention fixed on me with an intensity that makes me want to run.
Lucrezia pulls out the chair beside her. "Sit. Before Ettore comes out and personally escorts you to the table."
Once seated, I watch in bewilderment as Lucrezia begins filling a plate for me. She places golden waffles drizzled with syrup and topped with fresh berries, adding a side of scrambled eggs.
"Orange juice or coffee?" she asks, already reaching for a crystal pitcher.
"Juice, please," I reply, fighting the urge to flinch when she moves her hand near me.
