Page 1 of Bound in Possession

CHAPTER ONE

CAMILLA

The leather seats of the Mercedes feel cold against my bare shoulders, but it is the silence in the car that truly makes my skin crawl.

We landed in Sicily less than an hour ago, and my father didn't even give us time to rest. The second we arrived at our estate here, a designer was already waiting with a team, ready to dress me. As soon as the gown is on, my makeup done, and my hair pinned into place, we are dragged right back out the door and into the car.

I look out the window as the dark Sicilian countryside blurs past. Beside me, my father, Massimo Caruso, stares straight ahead, completely unbothered. Despite all the questions I have asked since we landed, he gives me no explanation beyond a flat, cold command: I must attend an event with him tonight. He still won't tell me what kind of event it actually is.

But the most suspicious part—the thing that has my pulse racing—is the phone. Before we stepped out of the house, he told me to leave mine behind because phones are not allowed at the venue. Yet, as I glance over, I can see the outline of his own phone tucked safely inside his suit jacket. Rules only apply to me, apparently.

After everything that happened with Sienna and Alessandro, I have every right to be on edge. That marriage ended up being a total disaster for my father, bringing him absolutely zero benefit. Because of that, I am incredibly suspicious of his sudden plans. It is always a bad sign when it involves expensive dresses, guarded silence, and a forced trip to another country.

The only reason I am not completely panicking is that he hasn't brought up the word marriage to me. Not once. Holding onto that small piece of relief, I keep my mouth shut and stay on my best behavior.

I turn to look at him, staring at the hard, unyielding outline of his jaw, and swallow the lump in my throat.

"Why aren't the others coming with us to this event?" I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible. "Usually, you want all of your daughters together."

My father doesn't look at me. His profile remains fixed, carved from granite. "Your sisters are where they need to be," he says, his voice flat and freezing. "Tonight is about obedience and family duty, Camilla. Do not ask again."

I force myself to stare back out the window, trying not to let my face show the sudden spike of anxiety inside me. My father is a man of habits, and usually, when Massimo Caruso parades his daughters in public, he brings us all out together.

The pure Caruso girls.

We are decoration to show off his wealth, or a commodity to maintain his power.

But tonight, I am completely on my own. Being the only daughter here makes the entire situation feel entirely wrong.

Eventually, the car slows down and stops. I look up, expecting the grand, brightly lit entrance of a luxury hotel. Instead, the driver pulls into a secluded, shadowed side entrance. Instantly, I know my instincts were right.

We alight from the car, the cool evening air hitting my skin. My heels click against the pavement, a sharp sound in the eerie quiet. Heavily armed men stand guard near the private doors, their hands resting flat against their weapons.

This is not a normal underworld dinner. This is not a political gathering.

No one steps forward to greet us warmly. No one smiles. I scan the area, desperately looking for a single familiar face, but there are no society wives here. No daughters laughing in groups. No women at all. There are only men in dark, tailored suits, massive security details, and too many heavy, silent looks directed right at me.

My father grips my elbow, his hold tight enough to leave a bruise, and leads me inside. He bypasses the main hallways entirely, walking straight toward a private elevator.

The doors slide open, we step inside, and we begin to descend. Down, down, straight into the underground level of the hotel. The deeper we go, the colder the atmosphere becomes, until the air feels completely stripped of life.

When the elevator doors slide open, we step out into a massive, secured room, and the breath catches in my throat.

The room is filled with powerful men. I recognize some of the Italian faces from my father's inner circle, but there are just as many strangers speaking in Russian. My eyes dart across the crowd, searching desperately, but the realization hits me like a slap to the face: there are absolutely no women in this room except me.

Before I can even process the thought, a large man steps into our path and points toward a heavy door on the far side of the room.

"This way," he says, his voice completely blank.

I dig my heels into the floor, resisting as my father tries to push me forward. "No," I say sharply, turning my head to look at him. "Father, what is happening? What is this place?"

He doesn't even look at me. His face is a mask of cold stone. "Do not embarrass me, Camilla," he hisses under his breath, his fingers digging harder into my arm.

Before I can argue, a man steps out from the shadows right in front of us. He raises a heavy camera, and a blinding white light flashes directly in my eyes. The sharp click of the shutter echoes in my ears.

I freeze, my hands clenching into fists. Blinding spots dance in my vision as a wave of hot anger mixes with my utter confusion.

“What is this?” I demand, my voice a low growl as I face the man who just took my photo. “Why would you take my picture?”