Page 56 of Ruined By Blood
"He came back to town, staying at The Continental. He's been meeting with Sterling daily, and doesn't look happy about the delay. My guy inside says Cortez has scheduled a flight back to Mexico for Sunday. If Sterling doesn't produce the girl by then, whatever deal they had is dead."
Four days. We have four days before Cortez leaves—four days before Sterling has nothing left to lose.
"Keep eyes on both of them," I tell Noah. "I want to know if Sterling makes any moves toward this area."
"Already done. I've got men watching the main roads, and Matteo's setting up surveillance on Sterling's estate. How's the girl?"
The question catches me off guard. Noah isn't exactly known for his concern for others. "She's... recovering."
"Didn't ask about her medical condition," Noah says, a knowing edge to his voice. "You getting attached, Feretti?"
"Focus on Sterling," I snap. "Call me if anything changes."
I end the call before he can respond. Noah's question hit closer than I'd like to admit. Am I getting attached? The memory of Sienna's lips against mine, the way her eyes flashed with something like wonder when I touched her cheek?—
Dangerous thoughts. Ones that will get us both killed if I don't keep my head clear.
I look at my phone and pull up Instagram, searching for "Sienna Sterling." Nothing appears except accounts belonging to women with similar names—none matching her face. I try Facebook, Twitter, even LinkedIn. Nothing. No digital footprint at all.
Most people her age live their lives online. But Sienna? It's like she doesn't exist outside her father's shadow. No wonder she's been so easy for him to control. He's kept her completely isolated from the world.
I wonder if he forbade her from having accounts, or if she simply never had the freedom to create them.
I switch tactics, searching for Henry Sterling instead. His public profile appears immediately—a carefully curated image of a successful businessman. Photos at charity galas, business conferences, political fundraisers. In some, there's a young woman beside him, always slightly behind, always wearing a practiced smile that never reaches her eyes.
Sienna.
I zoom in on one image from a charity ball six months ago. She's wearing a silver dress, standing just behind Sterling's shoulder, looking like a perfect accessory. The photographer caught her in a rare unguarded moment—her eyes distant, hollow. A beautiful doll with nothing inside.
My fingers tighten around the phone until I hear the case crack.
Taking a deep breath, I exit the app and open my messages, scrolling until I find Lucrezia's name. Despite everything happening, I need to check on her too.
How are you doing today?I type.
Her response comes quickly.
Fine. You don't need to check on me every day, you know.
I smile slightly, picturing her annoyed expression.Did you eat today?
Yes, Ettore made pasta. Stop mothering me.
I hesitate, then type:Have you been in your studio at all?
The response takes longer this time. Three dots appear and disappear twice before her message comes through.
Not yet. But I've been thinking about it.
That's something, at least. Better than last week when she threw her sketchbook across the room when Zoe suggested she try drawing.
That's good, Luce. No pressure. Just wondering.
What about you? How's Sienna?
I glance toward the stairs, wondering if she's still awake or if she's fallen asleep thinking about our kisses. The thought sends heat through my veins.
She's safe,I type, keeping it simple.
