Page 89 of Ruined By Blood
"She was locked in a bedroom, sir. Looks like they were keeping her as leverage."
"People always say the Feretti family values blood above all else."He laughs.
I struggle to keep my face blank, terror clawing at my throat. Does he know? Did he see through the lie already?
"If someone from another organization comes into my house and points a gun at me," Henry continues, taking a sip of his whiskey, "I'd fight back even if they killed every member of my family first." He sets the glass down with a sharp click. "No one shows such disrespect to Henry Sterling."
The driver nods in agreement. "Of course, sir."
"But the Ferettis?" My father sneers. "Such pussies when it comes to family. One threat to their precious sister, and they fold like cheap cards."
I dig my nails into my palms, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I want to defend Enzo, to tell my father that the Ferettis' love for family isn't weakness. It's the strength that he will never understand. But I swallow the words. Speaking now would only make things worse.
"Anyway," my father says, turning his cold gaze to me, "welcome home, Sienna. I hope you enjoyed your little... adventure."
The way he says "adventure" sends ice down my spine. I know that tone. The punishment will come later, when we're alone.
"Thank you for bringing my daughter back," he tells the driver, dismissing him with a wave. "You'll find your payment has been transferred to your account."
When the door closes behind him, I'm left alone with my father and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, counting down the seconds until his mask of civility drops away.
My father finishes his whiskey in one smooth swallow, setting the glass down with a sharp click against his desk. "You look filthy," he says, his gaze traveling from mytangled hair to my borrowed clothes. "Go upstairs. Shower. Make yourself presentable."
I stand perfectly still, muscles tense, waiting for the explosion of rage, the accusations, the punishment. But his face remains calm, almost pleasant.
"We'll have dinner together," he continues, checking his Rolex. "Be downstairs once you are done. We have something important to discuss."
"Yes, Father," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turns his attention to papers on his desk, dismissing me without another word. I back out of the study, carefully closing the door behind me.
My legs carry me automatically up the grand staircase, past the expensive artwork that has always felt more like decoration than expression. Each step feels heavier than the last. I'm returning to my prison with the knowledge of what freedom tastes like.
My bedroom looks exactly as I left it—perfectly organized, impersonally decorated, not a single item out of place. It's a beautiful cage with high thread-count sheets and designer furniture. I close the door and lean against it, finally allowing myself to exhale.
What a twisted irony. My father believes I was kidnapped. Held against my will, possibly hurt or traumatized and his only concern is that I shower and dress nicely for dinner. No questions about my wellbeing. No relief that I'm unharmed. Just instructions to make myself "presentable."
I push away from the door and walk toward the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the vanity mirror. The bruise on my face from Jackson stands out against my pale skin. I touch it gently, wincing at the tenderness. Thismark, at least, wasn't inflicted by my father or one of his "business associates." This one came while I was fighting to stay with Enzo.
Enzo.
My throat tightens at the thought of him.
The shower runs hot, steam filling the bathroom as I strip off Zoe's borrowed clothes. I step under the spray, letting water sluice over my hair and shoulders. This should feel like coming home, returning to familiar surroundings after time away. Instead, it feels like stepping back into a nightmare I briefly escaped.
I need to be smart now. Smarter than I've ever been. My father is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. If I act differently, if I show any sign that I went with Enzo willingly or that something changed in me, he'll know instantly. I need to be the perfect, obedient daughter until I figure out my next move.
Whatever my father wants to "discuss" at dinner, it can't be good. Most likely, it's about Cortez. The deal is probably still on, possibly with an even higher price now that I've caused trouble.
I scrub my skin until it's pink. I can't wash away the memories of Enzo's touch, nor do I want to. But I need to bury them deep for now, where my father can't see them. I need to become the vacant-eyed, soft-spoken property he expects me to be.
I'll play my part. I'll survive. And this time, I won't be waiting for someone else to rescue me.
CHAPTER 30
Islam through the door of my office with such force it almost tears off the hinges. The rage is a living thing inside me, clawing its way through my chest, demanding release.
"Fuck!" The word explodes from me as I sweep everything off my desk with a single violent motion. Papers flutter through the air, my laptop crashes to the floor, and a crystal paperweight shatters against the wall.
