Page 30 of Bound in Ruin

DOMINIC

I am fucking livid.

The more Vane lies to my face, the angrier I get, lashing out at him with violent, relentless precision. I hate that I left Rosalia sitting outside in the car with only the driver to watch over her. This was supposed to be a quick, five-minute interrogation, but Vane is making it agonizingly difficult.

I’ve been hunting for him and his counterpart ever since Harold spilled their names under pressure, but this bastard has been sleeker than an eel, slipping through every trap I set.

When Keane called to say they’d finally bagged him, I couldn’t resist the urge to stop by since we were already in the neighborhood.

But now, looking at the clock, I realize how stupid it was to bring this filth anywhere near my wife, leaving her out there alone.

The entire room is a bloody mess after ten minutes of tearing Vane apart, and normally, I could drag this out for another hour. Vane isn't strong. He's breaking, and if I took my time, I could squeeze every last secret out of his throat. But the thought of Rosalia waiting outside makes me too uncomfortable, too impatient.

I don't have time for this tonight.

I turn my head toward my second-in-command. "Keane. Give me the knife."

Vane’s bloody, swollen face contorts in sheer terror, his voice cracking as he begins to sob and beg for his life. "Dominic, please—wait! Please, I'll talk⁠—"

Too fucking late, buddy.

Keane doesn't hesitate, pulling the blade from his belt and handing me the hilt.

I step forward, grab Vane by the jaw, and drive the knife straight into his eye socket, twisting the blade hard.

A blood-curdling scream rips through his throat before his body goes entirely limp against the restraints. I pull the steel free, wiping the blood on my handkerchief, and toss the rag aside.

I turn to Keane, my voice devoid of any emotion. "Clean this up."

I turn on my heel to walk out, but the moment I face the doorway, the blood in my veins runs dead cold.

Standing right there in the shadows of the threshold is Rosalia. Her wide, unblinking eyes are locked directly onto Vane's lifeless body.

A surge of cold fury instantly replaces the adrenaline in my veins.

"What the hell are you doing out of the car, Rosalia?" My voice booms across the concrete room, terrifyingly loud and sharp.

I close the distance between us in three quick strides, stepping directly into her line of sight to block the gruesome view of Vane's bloody corpse. I grab her upper arms—not enough to bruise, but tight enough to anchor her—my breathing heavy, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.

"I gave you a direct order to stay inside the vehicle," I bite out, the raw anger pouring out of me.

Part of it is pure, unadulterated fury that she disobeyed me, that she put herself in harm's way without a second thought. But deeper than that—burrowed beneath the anger like a jagged piece of glass—is a sudden, sickening knot of panic. She saw it. She saw exactly what I am. She saw the monster beneath the tailored suits, and now the fragile thread of progress we made today is entirely shattered.

She's going to look at me with the same sheer terror she has for her father.

Rosalia doesn't say a word. She doesn't yell, she doesn't cry out, and to my absolute shock, she doesn't pull away or run from me. Her pale face remains completely unreadable, her dark eyes shifting from the floor up to mine, potent and silent.

"Car. Now." I growl, dropping my hands.

Without a single protest, she turns on her heel and walks out of the building. I follow a pace behind her, my chest tight as I watch her slip back into the rear seat of the car. I slide in beside her, slamming the door shut with enough force to shake the frame.

The drive home is suffocatingly quiet. Neither of us utters a single sound, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on while she stares quietly out the window and I sit beside her, consumed by a dark, spiraling silence.

Even after we arrive at the estate and step into the quiet foyer, Rosalia doesn’t speak. She moves through the house like a ghost.

It’s driving me out of my fucking mind.

I want to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and demand to know every single thought spiraling behind those quiet eyes. But for the first time in my life, I hesitate. A rare, cowardly voice in the back of my head tells me to leave her alone—because I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to hear the truth if she tells me she despises me.