Page 34 of Ruined By Blood
The mention of his mother makes me wonder about his family beyond Lucrezia and Damiano. I want to ask but bite my tongue. Questions feel dangerous, an exchange I can't afford. If I ask about his past, he'll expect answers about mine in return.
Instead, I watch as he moves around the kitchen with surprising grace for someone his size. His hands, which I'veonly imagined causing violence, handle the ingredients with care and precision. He cracks eggs into a bowl, grates cheese with quick, practiced movements, and dices the pancetta with the skill of someone who's done this many times before.
There's something mesmerizing about watching him cook, this unexpected glimpse of domesticity from a man who exudes danger.
"You really do know what you're doing," I say softly.
Enzo glances at me over his shoulder, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Told you. It's in my blood."
CHAPTER 13
"You look surprised," Enzo says, glancing up at me while grating cheese.
"I didn't expect... this." I gesture vaguely at the cooking scene before me.
He smirks. "What, you thought I lived on whiskey and violence alone?"
"Something like that," I admit.
"You cook?" he asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question.
I shake my head. "Never learned."
There are many things I was never taught. Cooking, driving, how to make friends.
Enzo nods while mixing eggs with cheese and black pepper. "My mother would smack my hand with a woodenspoon if I stirred the eggs too much," he says, his voice taking on a softer quality I haven't heard before. "She always said, 'Enzo, carbonara is simple but unforgiving. Respect the ingredients.'"
The mention of his mother again, makes something twist inside my chest. Unbidden, an image of my own mother floats to the surface—standing in our old kitchen before everything changed, flour dusting her cheeks as she taught me to roll cookie dough.
I blink rapidly, looking away. I can't go there. Those memories belong to another girl, one who died long ago. If I let myself remember her kindness, her smile, the way she protected me until she couldn't anymore...
"Sienna?" Enzo's voice pulls me back.
I realize I've been staring at nothing, my vision blurred.
"Fine. I'm fine," I mutter, but my voice betrays me with a slight tremor.
He doesn't push, just returns his attention to the pasta, giving me space to compose myself. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of boiling water and the scrape of his spoon against the pan.
While we wait for the pasta to finish cooking, I finally ask the question that's been burning inside me.
"What do you plan to do with me?"
His dark eyes meet mine. "Keep you safe."
"But why?" I press. "You don't know me. I'm nothing to you."
Enzo sets down his cooking spoon, his expression turning serious. "I told you before—I don't allow violence against women on my territory."
"It's more than that," I insist. "I can see it in your eyes. This is personal somehow."
He's quiet for a long moment, considering me. Then he exhales slowly.
"Lucrezia." Pain flashes across his face. "Something happened to her about three months ago. She was... hurt."
Understanding dawns. "And you couldn't stop it."
"I failed her," he says, voice dropping to something raw and broken. "I'm her brother. I should have been there, stopped it before..." He shakes his head. "When I found you outside the casino, beaten and terrified, I saw her. I couldn't fail again."
