Page 44 of Ruined By Blood
Her confession hangs in the air between us, heavy and raw. I'm coiled tight with rage, my knuckles white around my coffee mug as images flash through my mind – men touching her, hurting her, marking her perfect skin while that bastard Sterling knew. The urge to find them all and make them suffer rises in me like a dark tide.
I study her across the room – shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Even with the clothes hanging loose on her frame, I can map the locations of her scars beneath the fabric.
Blood roars in my ears as I imagine finding the men responsible. I'd take my time with them. Make themunderstand true pain. The warehouse where Damiano and I dealt with Lucrezia's attackers has space for more.
But this isn't about what I want. This is about her.
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but necessary. I let her have the space she needs, though every instinct screams to cross the room and pull her against me. To promise her that no one will ever hurt her again. That I'll stand between her and any threat.
The morning sun catches the tears still clinging to her lashes. She looks impossibly young, impossibly fragile, yet I know the strength it took to survive what she's endured. To run. To fight.
Mine, something primal in me whispers. Mine to protect. Mine to avenge.
I shove the thought away. She belongs to no one, least of all a man with hands as bloody as mine.
"Enzo." Her voice breaks the silence, soft but steady.
I look up, meeting those blue eyes that first caught my attention at the bar.
"Thank you." She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling. "For saving me that night."
It's the first time she's thanked me. The first time I see genuine gratitude in her eyes instead of suspicion.
"Thank you for bringing me here," she continues, voice growing stronger. "For not taking me to a hospital where he would have found me. For..." she swallows, "for not looking at me differently after seeing what they did."
Something cracks in my chest. I set down my coffee, trying to find words that won't sound hollow.
"I've seen worse," I finally say, then immediately regret it when her face falls. Cazzo. I'm not good at this shit.
"Fuck, that didn't come out right. What I mean is," I tryagain, "your scars don't change who you are, Sienna. They show what you survived."
She studies me, really looks at me for perhaps the first time. "Most men would run from damaged goods."
What the fuck?
"You're not damaged goods," I reply, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my enemies tremble. "You're a fucking survivor."
Her eyes widen slightly at my tone.
I stare at her, seeing the weight of memories etched into the shadows beneath her eyes. Something shifts inside me – a need to lighten what's hanging between us, to give her a moment's respite from the darkness.
"We don't have to keep talking about this right now," I say, setting my mug down. "Not if you don't want to."
Relief flashes across her face, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"Since we're stuck here for a while," I continue, leaning back against the couch, "is there anything you'd like to do? Watch a movie? Anything?"
She looks momentarily lost, like no one's ever asked for her preference before. It makes something cold settle in my gut.
"I don't know," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What do you usually do here?"
I glance around the cabin, thinking. "Sometimes I read. Work. But when Lucrezia visits, we play games."
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Games?"
An idea forms, a way to maybe bring her out of herself for a while. "Yeah, board games, card games. You like games?"
Sienna's eyes drop to her hands. "I've never really played games. Not since I was little, anyway."
