Page 41 of Ruined By Blood
And tomorrow, he expects me to talk about it.
I don't know if I can. I don't know if those words exist.
Iwake with a jolt at 9:07, my mind already churning before my feet hit the floor. Last night's encounter with Sienna replays like a brutal film I can't shut off.
I grab a t-shirt and pull it over my head, the fabric catching on my knuckles where the skin is still healing. Different wounds, same source. Violence.
My mind drifts back to three months ago. The warehouse. The men who hurt Lucrezia.
Damiano and I didn't speak much that night. Didn't need to. The tools laid out on the metal table spoke for us—pliers, blowtorch, hunting knife, bolt cutters. All meticulously arranged. When you do something right, preparation matters.
The first one pissed himself when we walked in. The second one tried to fight, stupid fuck. Made it more satisfying when we broke him.
I remember how they begged.
They all beg. They all swear they're sorry when the pain starts. We just kept working, methodical. One finger at a time. The blowtorch for the sensitive areas.
Death came slowly, deliberately slow. We made sure of it.
I splash more water on my face, but it doesn't wash away the memory of their blood on my hands, under my nails. The smell of burning flesh and piss and fear.
But what haunts me isn't what we did to those men. It's Lucrezia's face.
The violence didn't fix her. Couldn't undo what happened. She still flinches when doors close too loudly. Still sleeps with the lights on. Still abandoned her art—her fucking soul—for months.
And now there's Sienna. Another broken woman. More fucking animals who deserve slow deaths.
I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white. My reflection shows a hard face. The face of a man who's taken lives without hesitation. But it didn't heal my sister. It just satisfied my rage.
It won't fix her either.
Those cigarette burns on Sienna's skin weren't made in a moment of anger. They were deliberate, sustained torture. Someone stood there, watching her pain, and then did it again. And again.
I want names. I want locations. I want to feel bones break under my hands.
Revenge is for me. My satisfaction. My rage.
Protection—that's for her.
I pull on jeans and grab my phone, checking security alerts. Nothing triggered overnight. We're still safe here, for now.
I stand at my bedroom door, hand on the knob, and take a deep breath.
CHAPTER 16
Iwake up slowly, eyes heavy from crying myself to sleep. Sunlight filters through unfamiliar curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. My body aches, not only from physical wounds this time but from the emotional exhaustion of last night.
Last night.
When he saw everything.
I push back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers clutching the soft sheets. The memory of standing exposed before him hits me.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
I force myself to stand and walk to thedresser where he left clothes. My hands shake as I pull out a soft gray sweater and black leggings.
