Page 23 of Ruined By Blood
"We need to move," I say without preamble.
Her eyes widen. "Move where?"
"To a different house. One that's safer for you." I keep my distance, knowing my presence makes her uneasy. "It's remote, harder to find."
"Why?" Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Did he—did my father?—"
"Not yet. But he's looking, and this place is too obvious."
She studies me, those ice-blue eyes calculating risk. "Will your family be there?"
"Just me," I answer truthfully. "That's the point. To keep them safe while making sure you're protected."
A flicker of something—fear, distrust—crosses her face. "Just you and me?"
"Yes." I step closer, careful not to crowd her. "Pack whatever you need. We leave at midnight."
I don't wait for her response. She doesn't have a choice, and pretending she does would be crueler than honesty.
I head back in my room and throw essentials into a bag. Weapons, clothes, cash. The routine is familiar, but my mind wanders to unfamiliar territory.
A memory surfaces without permission—Caterina's laugh, the way sunlight caught her hair that summer in Milan. Before everything went to shit. Before I learned that love was just another word for vulnerability.
I slam my drawer shut, trying to force the memory away.
Since then, women have been simple. One night. Maybe two. Nothing that could dig beneath my skin or expose something I couldn't afford to show.
So why does Sienna's broken smile haunt me? Why does her quiet defiance linger in my thoughts?
I zip my bag with unnecessary force. This is about protection, about fixing what I failed to prevent with Lucrezia. Nothing more.
Then it hits me.
That look in her eyes before I walked out of her room—I've seen it before. Not the fear or resignation I've grown accustomed to seeing there. Something different. Something calculating.
I pause, hand still on my bag, and replay the moment in my mind. The way her posture shifted slightly. How her eyes darted toward the door, just for a second. The almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw.
Sienna Sterling isn't planning to come with me at all. She's planning to run.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite myself. Clever girl. Now I understand—she's been biding her time, pretending to cooperate while looking for an opening.
The midnight departure I've ordered gives her exactly what she needs: chaos, movement, a change in routine. She thinks I've handed her the perfect opportunity to slip away.
Part of me admires her for it. The rest of me knows better than to underestimate what desperation can drive someone to do.
What would I do in her position? Wait until we're in transit, maybe. Create a distraction. Or perhaps she thinks she can disappear into the night before we even leave.
I wonder how far she'll get before I catch her. How she'll react when I do.
My smile widens. The girl has spirit, I'll give her that. It's been a while since anyone surprised me.
I sit on the edge of my bed, considering my options. I could confront her now, shut down her plans before they begin. The smart move, probably.
But I find myself curious. I want to see what she'll do, how she'll make her move. Testing her resolve feels important somehow, like I need to know exactly what she's capable of.
Fine. Let her try. Let her show me who she really is when pushed to the edge.
I'llbe ready either way.
