Page 79 of Bound in Ruin

She lets out a harsh, cruel scoff, turning her face away from me. "And I actually believed you did. God, I was so stupid. When you fought for me in this case, when you handed me Luciano’s properties, I really thought that finally... finally... someone in this world cared about me for me. But it was just another transaction. Another selfish play."

She looks back at me, her eyes hollow, cutting straight into my chest. "You’re no different than Luciano. You’re no different than my father."

The words hit me like a physical blow, slicing through my chest with an agony so sharp I almost stagger backward. Being compared to the monstrous men who abused and controlled her is the worst insult she could ever throw at me. But as the pain burns through my veins, I force it down.

Her pain is a thousand times worse than mine, and I caused every single drop of it.

I drop to my knees in front of her, ignoring the protest of my pride, swallowing every ounce of arrogance I’ve ever carried.

"I admit I was not thinking of you when this started," I say, my voice raw, entirely stripped of control as I look up into her guarded face. "I won't deny that. But please... hear me when I tell you this: watching you smile in that courtroom today meant more to me than those fucking files ever could. I would burn every paper Luciano ever wrote to keep that look on your face. I care about you, Rosalia. I do."

"Get out," she whispers, her voice flat, immovable, and colder than ice. "Just leave."

I search her face for a single crack in her resolve, but there is none.

Sadly, slowly, I rise to my feet. Every muscle in my body feels lax, as if I’m dragging a hundred pounds of iron. I step back, deciding it's best to give her the room, to give her a little space to breathe for the day before I completely ruin what's left of us.

I turn and pull open the mahogany suite door.

The second the crack widens, Yapper comes bounding into the room, his tiny paws skittering wildly across the polished hardwood floor as he trots straight toward Rosalia, letting out a small, happy bark.

A surge of quiet gratitude washes over me for the tiny dog. At least he’ll keep her company. At least she won't be entirely alone in the quiet of this room.

I step out into the hallway, shut the door softly behind me. I need to move. I need to direct this dark, suffocating energy into something I can actually control.

I have to go check on Dante anyway. A man like Dante doesn't take a public, devastating loss like today's ruling sitting down. He’s cornered, furious, and desperate, which makes him more dangerous than ever.

I pull out my phone, dialing Keane as I stride down the long hallway toward the grand staircase.

I need to find him so we can go out and track down whatever Dante is planning next. Crushing my enemies is the only thing I know how to do right now—and keeping myself busy is the only way I'll survive giving Rosalia the space she requested.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ROSALIA

The quiet inside the master suite feels smothering, wrapping around me like a cold blanket, even long after the lock clicks into place behind Dominic.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, the silk of my dress rustling softly against the duvet. My hands are still shaking, the fine tremble spreading all the way up my arms to my chest.

A small, warm weight presses against my shin.

I look down through a blur of unshed tears. Yapper is sitting by my feet, his dark, intelligent eyes searching mine, his tiny tail wagging once, twice, in a hesitant rhythm. He lets out a soft, sympathetic whine before leaning his small head directly against my ankle.

"Hey, buddy," I whisper, my voice cracking on the quiet greeting.

I reach down and pick him up, pulling him into my lap. He immediately curls into a small, warm ball against my stomach, resting his chin on my forearm. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is the only thing grounding me as the dam finally breaks inside my chest.

How could he do this?

A fresh wave of pain traces up my spine. I wrap my arms around Yapper, burying my face into his soft fur.

Everything we built—every gentle touch, every quiet look of understanding, every single moment where I foolishly let myself believe I was finally safe—was rooted in a lie.

He didn't save me out of some dark, sudden devotion. He didn't marry me to protect me from Dante or to pull me out of the nightmare my life had become. He married me because I was a key to a locked door. I was an asset. A convenient legal proxy standing between him and a file that could destroy his empire.

He knew.

The thought stabs through me like a jagged glass shard. All those nights I lay awake in terror, suffocating under the phantom weight of handcuffs, convinced the police would burst through the door to arrest me for a murder I didn't commit—Dominic knew the whole time.