Page 1 of Bound in Ruin

CHAPTER ONE

ROSALIA

Oh God. Oh God. What am I doing?

I stand frozen at the edge of the mattress in my husband’s bedroom. On the silk sheets, Luciano lets out a low, ragged snore, his heavy arm draped uselessly over the side.

He always sleeps like a dirty pig, but the sound is heavier tonight, thick and drug-induced. Right now, he is being held under by the heavy dosage of sleeping pills I crushed into his drink a while ago.

My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I look down at my hands, my fingers still tingling from the sheer pressure it took to grind the sedatives between two silver spoons.

I don’t regret it. Not for a single second.

It took longer than I expected for his speech to slur, then for his eyes to lose focus, and now, finally, he is completely under.

I force myself to wait a few more agonizing minutes, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest to be absolutely certain he’s unconscious.

God, I hate looking at this old beast’s face.

Looking at Luciano only invites the rot of the last ten years—the sharp sting of his palms, the casual humiliation in front of his brothers, and the absolute isolation of being the eldest Caruso daughter, sacrificed by a greedy father for a dynasty alliance.

I have only survived this long by becoming a ghost. I learned to give him a perfectly composed, obedient public wife while keeping my real thoughts entirely unreadable.

But those thoughts aren’t very unreadable right now.

In the quiet of this dark, cavernous bedroom, the mask has finally slipped. I can feel the raw weight of the emotions anchoring themselves to my features. The pure, unadulterated hatred. The disgust. The blistering anger.

Luciano snores again, a wet, heavy sound, and I tear my gaze away.

Time is ticking. I have to move.

I slip out of his bedroom, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me with agonizing finality.

Down the dimly lit corridor, a maid catches my eye from afar and immediately drops her head, quietly bowing in deference. I force my shoulders to drop, forcing a mask of placid indifference over my features. My pulse is electric, hot and nervous, but I don't let it show.

It is normal for the staff to see me roaming the halls so late. They know the routine. I only ever cross the threshold into Luciano’s room when he summons me for sex, and the moment the grunting, sweaty, unbearable activity is over, I leave. I never stay the night.

I make a straight line for my own bedroom, but I can't afford to linger. I have to leave, do my business, and return before the drug wears off.

Moving with practiced, silent speed, I slip a dark wool coat over my shoulders. I don't grab a purse—purses carry ID, tracking tags, things that leave a digital footprint. Instead, I just push the small, clear plastic bottle of my birth control pills deep into my coat pocket, right alongside a thick stack of folded cash.

The moment I step out the side door of the DeLorenzo estate, the cold midnight air hits my face like a physical slap. I keep my head down, keeping to the blind spots and avoiding the main driveway where the security cameras cut through the dark. I take the narrow gravel path that snakes toward the outer perimeter, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, threatening to choke me.

If Luciano wakes up early, I am dead. If the guards catch me crossing the property without permission, I will be dragged right back to his bed, and the consequences will be worse than anything I have survived in the last ten years.

But staying still is no longer an option.

Two weeks ago, the sudden waves of morning sickness started. Yesterday, the test confirmed my worst nightmare: I am pregnant.

With child.

The memory of those two pink lines turns my blood to pure ice and sends a violent churn through my stomach. For years, I have been meticulous about my birth control, finding a way to buy it without anyone knowing and waking up at the exact same time every morning to swallow the tiny tablet. It was the one invisible boundary I had drawn in the dirt—the single, solitary part of my life I thought I still controlled.

I swore an oath to myself that I would never bring a child into Luciano’s kingdom, never give that monster a helpless piece of leverage to ensure I could never run away. A child will trap me in this marriage forever.

Yet, against all odds, the test is positive.

I finally reach the edge of the estate property, my fingers finding the loose section of iron fencing I scouted months ago. Squeezing through, I step onto the cracked asphalt of the public road, my breath forming small, ragged white clouds in the dark.