Page 13 of Bound in Ruin

High-ranking lieutenants, senior capos, and advisors sit rigid in their leather chairs, watching my every move, desperately trying to read the ruthless intent written across my face.

I walk to the head of the table, rest my hands flat on the polished mahogany, and lean forward. I don't wait for them to settle. I don't offer an opening greeting.

"Tomorrow morning, I am marrying Rosalia Caruso," I announce, my voice ringing out like a gavel striking stone.

The room instantly erupts into a wave of sharp gasps and panicked whispers. Senior advisors exchange shocked looks, and a few capos lean forward, their mouths opening to protest the impossible timeline.

I raise one hand, and the room suffocates back into dead silence.

"This is not a debate, and I am not asking for your input," I say, sweeping my gaze across every face in the room, letting the cold threat hang in the air. "The arrangements are already being made. The ceremony will happen tomorrow, the papers will be signed, and the union will be sealed. That is the end of it."

CHAPTER FOUR

ROSALIA

I pace back and forth across the plush carpet, the steady, rhythmic thud of steps doing nothing to quiet the wild pounding of my heart. I walk the full length of the massive bedroom, my eyes darting from the heavy dark furniture to the reinforced glass of the balcony doors.

I don't know when the wedding will take place, but judging by how things operate in our world, time is never on a woman's side.

Marriages like this aren't planned over months with flowers and invitations; they are executed like military coups. It will be soon. A week at most, if I’m lucky.

Which is exactly why I have to be smart. I cannot afford to be naive again.

I reach into my pocket, tap the screen of my phone, and open the note file I’ve been meticulously editing for hours. I go through my compiled list one more time, line by line, checking every word, every boundary, every demand.

One: Separate bedrooms.

Two: Full autonomy over my personal schedule and movements.

Three: No interference in my personal affairs or past.

Four: No sex or physical intimacy.

I mark off the rest of the list with my fingers, careful to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I won't go into another marriage defenseless. I made that mistake with Luciano, walking blindly into a cage and letting a man strip away my voice piece by piece, until there was nothing left of me.

I survived ten years of Luciano’s cold, cruel control. I am not about to hand the reins of my life over to Dominic Kane just because he wears a better suit and carries a bigger gun.

I won't.

I stare at the screen, letting out a slow, steadying breath. Everything here is reasonable. It's fair, clear, and pragmatic. He wants a strategic alliance to cement his power, and I want my dignity and freedom intact. He must agree to these terms before I ever sign my name next to his.

I start pacing again, my phone clutched so tightly in my hand that my knuckles turn white.

Suddenly, the heavy click of the suite's front door echoes down the hall. My heart jumps into my throat. I scramble back toward the bed, sitting down quickly and smoothing my skirt, forcing my shoulders back to appear calm, composed, and unbothered.

A second later, the bedroom door swings open and Dominic walks in.

His dark eyes immediately lock onto mine, analyzing me for a long, quiet moment. He doesn't say a word. He simply turns and walks into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door half-open.

Soon, the sharp sound of running water fills the silence. My body heats up, a sudden spike of nervous awareness flushing through my skin. I can't do this. I need my own room—if only for my own sanity and peace of mind.

A few minutes later, Dominic walks back into the bedroom, completely changed. Gone is the shirt and jacket. Instead, he wears a simple pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black fitted t-shirt that clings to his broad chest and heavy shoulders.

I swallow hard, clearing my throat before my courage fails me.

"Can you please sit down?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady. "We need to talk."

Dominic stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at me. "About what?"