Page 64 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

I wouldn’t dare take the blame. He’d…ruined me. It wasn’t the first time. I’d been ruined before, mistreated in ways humans shouldn’t be, especially children. I’d never let that stop me, never used it as an excuse. I’d always moved past it.

I needed to do that now. I needed to survive this. Healing felt impossibly far away, but surviving...that I could do. I’d done it before. There was no other choice.

18

Laurent stood with hands clasped behind his back to keep his fists from clenching. The window overlooked the garden below, giving him a view of Lily. She sat sipping the iced tea Vittorio had brought her.

He’d given her an entire week, careful to keep his distance. Today had been a test—to see how she would react to his presence, to see if she’d healed.

“Well?” he said as Vittorio appeared beside him, mirroring his stance.

“She has calmed somewhat. Agreed to help with dinner this evening. She likes lasagna.” He hesitated, and then, “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” Laurent admitted. “The moment I stepped in the room, it’s like she was being tortured all over again. I could barely stomach the scent of it poisoning her lovely essence. She lasted all of five seconds in my presence before she fled. She can’t stomach me.”

Vittorio let out an unnecessary sigh, but said nothing.

“I’ve given her space. The journal seemed to help. I don’t know what more to do.”

“These things take time, sire. She suffered a highly traumatic ordeal.”

“I wasn’t the one wielding the blade,” he hissed.

“No, but you gave her to those who did.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing he was to blame. Zola had given Lily a brief explanation, that the handoff was meant to be a ruse, a way to use her as bait for information. She was never meant to go farther than the road leading from the manor. Marco and his team were meant to intercept her, kill the witches, and bring her home.

“She suffered for years, sire.” Vittorio gazed down at Lily, his eyes unfocused. “Her entire childhood into adulthood. We cannot begin to understand what she endured before reaching our doorstep.”

“I grossly misjudged her,” he admitted, still angry with himself. He’d taken one look at her and made assumptions—wrong ones. So horribly wrong. “There was so much fire in her those first few days. She seemed unbreakable—a fighter who’d already survived hell and come out swinging.”

“Many of us carry invisible wounds, sire. You should understand that better than anyone.”

Laurent huffed. “Indeed.”

“She showed some interest in piano,” Vittorio mused.

“Yes. I took the liberty of gifting her some new music. I left it on her bed before seeking her out in the library.”

“It won’t be enough,” Vittorio said.

“Why?”

“You must see it from her perspective, sire. Her fear of you borders on terror. On the surface, she believes you will not hurt her again. Zola’s reassurances have made that clear. But deep down, her trauma was because of you. That has left its mark. She’s been passed from family to family. Always unwanted. She came here, and after two attempts at escape, she was handed to the witches and tortured.”

He swore. Somewhere from the depths of his mind, the words she’d said to him, spoken in near unconsciousness, came back. “She said something, when I carried her into the house after Henrietta. She said that no one had ever wanted to keep her.”

“And what did you say in return?”

His hands dropped, fists opening and closing. Below, Lily took another sip of her iced tea, oblivious to his prying eyes.

“I told her…” He swallowed. “I told her I would never let anyone have her.”

Vittorio swore under his breath. “And then you went and handed her over.”

The ultimate betrayal. Was it so horrible that there would be no coming back from it? No, he refused to believe that. “I have much to atone for, if I am to fix this.”

Vittorio hummed. “And do you, sire—want to fix it?”