Page 67 of His Savage Ruin
As they disappear around the corner, I can hear Marco's wet, ragged breathing and the drag of his feet against the marble, leaving a thin trail of blood drops behind them.
I turn back to find Alessia still kneeling on the floor, staring at her hands like she's never seen blood before, even though I know she has—she lived with Lorenzo long enough to see plenty of it.
The hallway is eerily quiet now, just the distant sounds of the casino filtering through from the main floor, all of it seeming obscene and completely out of place after what just happened here. I look toward the main floor and realize that we're far enough back in this hallway that nobody from the casino propercould have seen what happened, but my men are all standing near the entrance to this corridor, clearly drawn by the noise of the fight, and they probably all saw everything.
I meet Enzo's gaze across the distance separating us, and he holds my stare for a long moment that feels loaded with questions and assessments and probably judgments before nodding once, slow and deliberate and unmistakable.
It's approval, or as close as I'm going to get from him right now, and I feel something in my chest loosen just slightly because whatever just happened, whatever they all witnessed in this hallway, Enzo understands why I did it and why I had to do it the way I did. Marco threatened what's under my protection, questioned his position, and needed to be reminded of his place in a way that everyone else would see and never fucking forget. The others will follow Enzo's lead on this, like they always do. That's all I need right now.
I reach down and grab Alessia's arm, pulling her to her feet gently. My hands shake slightly with leftover adrenaline. She sways when she stands, and I have to steady her with both hands on her elbows.
There's blood on her hands now too, dark red against her pale skin where she touched me, and somehow that bothers me more than all the blood covering my own hands.
"We're leaving,"I tell her, and my voice comes out rougher and more commanding than I intended, but I need to get her out of here before the adrenaline crash hits mefully.
She doesn't argue, just nods once and lets me guide her forward, and thank Christ for that, because I don't think I could handle resistance right now.
I guide her toward the exit, my hand firm but not rough at her elbow, and as we pass my men standing at the corridor entrance, they all step aside to let us through without a word. Luca follows us with his eyes but doesn't move from his position, doesn't speak.
The air hits me when we step outside, cool and clean after the smoke and blood and stale recycled casino air that suddenly feels like it was suffocating me. Alessia's breathing hard beside me, her body trembling with what I recognize as the aftermath of an adrenaline dump, the shakes that come after violence when your body finally realizes you're not in danger anymore and decides to fall apart all at once. I can feel it in the way she leans into my grip, like her knees might give out if I let go.
The car waits at the curb, door already open. I help her inside, sliding in after her and pulling the door shut.
My knuckles throb with every heartbeat, the pain getting sharper and more insistent now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off and my body is remembering that punching someone in the face repeatedly actually hurts like a bitch. Tomorrow they'll be purple and swollen and I probably won't be able to make a proper fist for a week at least.
But it was so worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alessia
The morning after the casino, I wake to silence.
There is no click of a lock nor footsteps outside my door keeping watch.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the familiar sounds that never come. My heart beats faster. Something's changed.
I swing my legs out of bed, feet hitting cold marble. The room still smells faintly of Matteo. My thighs ache when I stand, a reminder of the night before the casino, but I push the thought away.
The door handle is cool under my palm. I turn it slowly, expecting resistance, but it just opens.
The hallway stretches empty ahead of me, morning light slanting through tall windows. Romeo stands at his usual post near the stairs, but when he sees me, he doesn't move to block my path. Just nods once. "Signora."
Hmm… This is weird.
I step into the hallway, pulse hammering in my throat. Any second now, someone will stop me. Tell me to go back. Lock me in again.
But no one does and that should probably make me feel better, but somehow it doesn't.
Because this new freedom isn't what's bothering me this morning.
What's bothering me is the notes.
Someone knows about Lorenzo and me, knows we never consummated our marriage, knows everything, and they're close enough to get items delivered directly to me.
That means whoever sent it has access to this house or to someone who does, which means I'm not actually safe here.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as I make my way toward the library, my mind turning over possibilities. Could it be one of the staff? One of Matteo's men? Someone from the Moretti house who somehow got past security? And more importantly, what dothey want from me? The second note said we should talk soon, but there's been nothing since then, no follow-up, no demands, just that single message sitting in my memory like a ticking bomb waiting to explode.
