Page 35 of Ruined By Blood
The confession hangs between us, heavy with unspoken guilt and rage.
"So I'm your redemption?" I ask, not unkindly.
"You're someone who needs protection," he corrects. "And I can give it."
I watch as Enzo drains the pasta, then tosses it into the pan with his egg mixture. He works quickly, stirring everything together. The aroma that fills the kitchen is mouthwatering.
"Here we go," he says, sliding a steaming plate in front of me. "Carbonara at three in the morning. My nonna would be scandalized."
I pick up the fork he offers and take a tentative bite. The flavor explodes across my tongue—creamy, salty, with the perfect bite from the black pepper. Before I can stop myself, a low moan escapes my lips.
My eyes flash open in horror.
Enzo's lips curl into a smirk, eyes dancing with amusement. "That good, huh?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I—I didn't mean to..."
"No need to be embarrassed," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I take it as a compliment."
I duck my head, focusing intently on my plate. "It's just... I haven't had good food in a long time."
His playfulness fades, replaced by something darker. Before he can press me about my father again, I change the subject.
"I didn't realize Lucrezia was struggling with something," I say quietly. "She seemed so... put together when we talked. So ready to make me feel comfortable."
Enzo's expression shifts, pain flickering across his features before he masks it.
"My sister is strong," he says, picking at his own food. "She puts on a brave face for everyone else while she's breaking inside. Doesn't want anyone to worry."
"I wouldn't have noticed," I admit. "She was kind to me when she had every reason not to be."
Enzo sets down his fork, jaw tightening. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too intimate. I've struck a nerve.
"That's who she is," he says finally. "Who she's always been. Before..." He trails off, then abruptly pushes his chair back.
"So," he says, his tone deliberately lighter. "You said you take photographs?"
I blink at the sudden shift. "When I can."
"What do you like to capture?"
I hesitate, not used to talking about myself. "Empty spaces, mostly. Abandoned buildings. Places where people used to be but aren't anymore."
"That's... specific," he says, studying me.
I shrug, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "They're honest places. No pretending."
Enzo nods slowly. "I'd like to see them sometime. Your photographs."
"They're nothing special," I mumble, taking another bite to avoid his gaze.
"I doubt that," he says simply.
The sincerity in his voice makes something flutter in my chest, and I'm grateful when he doesn't push further.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension gradually dissolving into something almost comfortable. It's strange to sit here with him.
Strange, and yet for the first time in years, I feel almost normal.
