Page 84 of Ruined By Blood
"Besides," Alessio chimes in, raising his wine glass with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Damiano doesn't want you to hate us since you're apparently the only woman who can stand being around Enzo for more than five minutes without wanting to stab him."
"Vaffanculo, stronzo," Enzo mutters under his breath, shooting Alessio a dark look that would make most men flinch. Alessio just grins wider.
I don't need to understand Italian to recognize a curse when I hear one. The corner of my mouth twitches upward as I glance between them.
"Don't mind them," Zoe says, leaning toward meconspiratorially. "They've been like this since I met them. It's how they show affection."
"It's true," Lucrezia agrees, twirling pasta around her fork. "If Enzo doesn't insult you at least once a day, it means he doesn't like you."
Enzo rolls his eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile he tries to hide by taking a sip of his wine. His hand finds mine under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.
The gesture is small, private—just for me—and it makes my heart flutter in my chest. I squeeze back, marveling at how natural it feels to sit here among these people who were strangers just days ago.
The laughter around the table feels foreign but wonderful, like discovering a language I'd forgotten I could speak. For a brief moment, I almost believe I could belong here, in this strange family bound not just by blood but by choice.
Ettore appears with a platter of tiramisu just as Alessio is recounting another embarrassing story about Enzo. The rich scent of coffee and cocoa wafts across the table, making my mouth water.
"This looks amazing," I say as Ettore places a portion in front of me.
"My nonna's recipe," he says with a wink. "The secret is?—"
A shrill, piercing alarm cuts through the room, drowning out his words.
The transformation is instantaneous. The warm, relaxed atmosphere evaporates like morning mist. Damiano, Alessio, and Enzo are on their feet before I can even process what's happening, guns appearing in their hands as if conjured from thin air.
"Perimeter breach, east side," Damiano states, his voice cold and precise. All trace of the man who smiled at Zoemoments ago has vanished, replaced by someone dangerous and deadly.
Enzo moves to my side, his face hard as granite. "Take Sienna and Zoe to the safe room," he commands Lucrezia. "Now."
Zoe is already at the door, calm but moving with purpose. Lucrezia grabs my arm, tugging me forward. "Come on," she urges, her eyes wide but determined.
I follow them into the hallway, heart hammering against my ribs. Behind us, I hear Damiano giving rapid orders, voices taut with tension.
"The basement entrance is this way," Lucrezia explains, leading us toward a door near the kitchen. "The safe room can withstand?—"
A deafening explosion rocks the house, the force of it sending us staggering against the wall. Plaster rains down from the ceiling. Somewhere, glass shatters.
"They're inside," Zoe whispers, her face pale but composed.
My blood runs cold as realization crashes over me. I know exactly who "they" are.
Henry. My father. Coming for his property.
And these people—these strangers who've shown me more kindness in days than I've known in years—are going to die because of me.
"This is my fault," I whisper, the words tasting like ash. "My father won't stop until he gets what he wants. He never does."
Lucrezia's hand tightens around mine. "Come on," she repeats, more urgently. "We need to get to safety."
But my feet won't move. I can hear shouting now, the unmistakable pop of gunfire from somewhere in the house. How many men did my father bring? How manypeople are going to die today because they tried to help me?
"No," I say, pulling my hand free from Lucrezia's grip. "I can't let you all die for me."
"Sienna, don't be stupid," Zoe hisses, reaching for me. "Damiano and Enzo know what they're doing."
But I shake my head, stepping back. This isn't right. These people barely know me. I'm not worth dying for—I'm not worth Enzo dying for. The thought of him bleeding out because of me makes my stomach twist into knots.
"This is about me," I say, my voice steadier now as determination takes root. "My father won't hurt you if he gets what he wants."
