Page 9 of Bound in Ruin

"Kane is outside in the driveway," Massimo says, his voice flat and unyielding. "He's here to take you to his estate. Get moving."

Panic spikes in my throat, hot and sharp. "I haven't packed," I say, my voice cracking slightly as I gesture toward the empty room behind me. "I need time to gather my things⁠—"

"Nobody cares, Rosalia," he cuts in sharply, waving his hand in the air to dismiss me before I can even finish the sentence. "You're leaving now. I'll have Daniela pack up your wardrobe and send the luggage over later today."

"Father, just give me an hour⁠—"

He doesn't listen. He simply turns his back on me and walks down the corridor, his heavy footsteps echoing against the marble, leaving no room for argument.

With numb, trembling hands, I throw on a simple, long-sleeved dark dress, forcing my spine to lock straight as I put my mask back on. I walk down the grand staircase and step into the foyer, where Dominic is waiting.

He stands by the front entrance like a dark, towering shadow against the morning light, dressed in luxurious linen pants and black tee. His hard eyes track my movement down the stairs, but neither of us says a single word. The air between us is thick with the same suffocating, dangerous tension from the night before.

Without waiting for me to speak, he turns, pushes the front heavy mahogany door open, and walks outside.

I follow him down the driveway to his idling Escalade. He opens the front passenger door, holding it open with an unreadable expression on his face. I climb into the leather seat without looking at him, pulling my dress tight around my knees.

He slams the door shut, rounds the hood, and steps into the driver's side. The engine roars to life, and as he pulls out of the Caruso gates, I don't look back once.

The Escalade glides smoothly across town, navigating the winding roads until we reach the secluded, heavily forested outskirts. We pull up to a pair of massive, black iron gates flanked by high stone walls topped with security cameras and discreet wiring. Two heavily armed guards in tactical gear step out of a small guardhouse, giving Dominic a crisp, immediate nod before buzzing us through.

I study everything quietly through the tinted glass. The estate is a vast, imposing fortress—a modern, slate-and-glass mansion surrounded by manicured grounds that offer zero blind spots. Everywhere I look, guards move with disciplined, military precision. They don't linger or chat; their eyes scan the perimeter constantly.

And the way they look at Dominic... it isn't just standard professional courtesy. It's bone-deep respect, layered with a very healthy dose of fear.

Dominic kills the engine in the circular driveway, gets out, and opens my door. I step into the crisp morning air, keeping my posture rigid as I follow him up the wide granite steps.

When he pushes the heavy glass-and-steel front doors open, two people are already standing waiting in the grand foyer.

"Rosalia," Dominic's rough voice cuts through the quiet house as he gestures to them. "These are Helena and Keane. Helena is the live-in house manager, and Keane is my second-in-command.”

I take them in instantly.

Helen is an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, her dark auburn hair pinned back into a neat, practical chignon. She wears a tailored linen outfit, and her sharp brown eyes take me in with a warm, welcoming smile that feels entirely out of place in a captor’s home—a warmth that immediately makes me lower my guard and then instantly double my caution.

Keane stands beside her. He is tall, lean, and athletic, built with a military-sharp posture. He has close-cropped brown hair, hard green eyes, and an observant, deeply controlled expression. He looks like a man who calculates threat levels before he even says hello.

"Welcome to the estate, Miss Caruso," Helen says softly, her tone surprisingly gentle. "Anything you need, you only have to ask. I’m here to make sure you’re comfortable."

"Thank you." I force a polite, distant smile in her direction, keeping my guard up.

Keane simply gives me a single, crisp nod. "Ma'am."

Dominic clears his throat, the low rumble breaking the brief pleasantry. "I'll show you to your room," he says flatly.

I give a brief nod to Helen and Keane before following Dominic up the grand, winding staircase. We turn down a long, quiet wing on the second floor and pass through a set of heavy double doors into a sprawling master suite. We walk through a private living area, past a sleek fireplace, and into a massive bedroom.

The moment my heels sink into the plush carpet, I freeze.

The room is dark, sophisticated, and distinctly lived-in. Heavy charcoal linens dress the king-sized bed. A leather watch box sits on the dressers alongside a crystal decanter of bourbon and a heavy, familiar bottle of cologne—the exact cedarwood and tobacco scent that has been tormenting my senses since last night.

A sudden spike of panic and absolute outrage hits me. I whirl around to face him, blocking the doorway.

"Is this my room, or is this your room?" I demand, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides.

Dominic frowns at me, raising an eyebrow as if I've entirely lost my mind. "It’s our room," he says casually, unbuttoning the top button of his collared shirt. "We’ll share it."

"I won't," I snap, the sharp edge in my voice ringing off the stone walls. "I am not sharing a bed with you."