Page 6 of Bound in Ruin

A man is standing in the dim light of the garden wall. I freeze, my eyes mapping his silhouette, and an immediate wave of alertness washes over me. I don’t recognize him. I have never seen him before in my life, he is the kind of man you would remember.

He is exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and deeply intimidating, possessing the controlled, lethal build of someone who has spent his entire life trained for absolute violence. He has short, dark hair, sharp, rugged features, and hard, dark eyes that cut right through the gloom. His expression is completely calm, almost detached, but the moment I step into the clearing, his eyes lock onto me and simply refuse to let go.

A lit cigarette rests between his plump lips, a thin curl of smoke rising into the freezing air.

Under his intense, unblinking scrutiny, a sudden, reckless wave of courage surges through me. I am so tired of being the prey, so tired of feeling small under the weight of my father’s house and Luciano's ghost.

I close the distance between us, stepping right into his space, and look up into those hard, dark eyes.

"Do you have another cigarette?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

His eyes rake slowly down my body, lingering on the curve of my neck and the fit of my gown before rising back to my face. Under that heavy, unhurried gaze, a sudden, electric heat sparks beneath my skin. My pulse jumps, and for the first time in my life, I feel my body snap completely awake and alive in a way I never have before.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I am twenty-seven years old. I’ve been married since I was seventeen, surrounded by some of the most ruthless, dangerous men in the underworld, and not a single one of them has ever managed to unsettle me with a mere look.

But the moment the jerk opens his mouth, the spell shatters.

He takes a slow drag of his smoke, his plump lips curling into a mocking sliver of a smile. "You don't look like a grieving widow," he says, his deep voice carrying a rough, gritty edge that scratches against the quiet night air.

My jaw tightens, my sudden attraction instantly souring into pure hostility. I tilt my chin up, matching his icy stare. "Who are you to tell me that?”

Before I can demand an answer, he takes another step forward, his massive chest nearly brushing against my shoulders, completely trapping me between his heavy frame and the stone wall behind me. The proximity is dizzying, the raw, hostile chemistry I feel thick enough to choke on.

"Who I am isn't the question you should be asking, sweetheart," he murmurs, his deep, gritty voice dropping to a dangerous, low octave that vibrates right through my skin. He leans in closer, his plump lips hovering just inches from my ear, his hot breath ghosting across my neck. "The real question is how much longer you think you can survive in that house before the DeLorenzos or your own father decide you've outlived your usefulness."

A shiver rips down my spine, entirely against my will. My body reacts to him with a terrifying, electric intensity, even as my mind screams at me to run. I hate how easily he reads me. I hate how he stands there, completely unbothered, looking down at me as if he already owns every dark secret I’m trying to hide.

"I survive just fine," I spit out, forcing my voice to remain cold and steady as I push against his solid chest to create an inch of space. It feels like trying to move a brick wall. "I don't need protection, and I damn sure don't need a lecture from a party-crasher I don’t know.”

“Party-crasher?” He laughs darkly, the sound shooting straight into my brain. “Right. Let's see how long that name keeps you warm when the wolves finally decide to tear the cage open."

He smiles then—a slow, lethal curve of his lips that tells me he isn't just a guest at this party. He is a predator who knows exactly what kind of trap I am running out of time to escape.

Before I can throw his mocking words back in his face, the heavy, muffled thump of a microphone cuts through the night air. The garden speakers boom, and my father’s booming, authoritative voice echoes across the estate.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention in the main ballroom. Please gather around. I have an announcement to make."

I let out a sharp, frustrated huff, glaring up at the strange, rude man one last time. "We're done here," I snap, pivoting on my heel.

I march away from him, my heels tearing into the gravel as I head back toward the light, desperately trying to shake the dizzying effect his presence had on me.

My heart hammers violently against my ribs as I step back inside the crowded room. The ambient chatter dies down to a tense, expectant murmur as the gathered families and allies form a wide circle around the raised dais. I slip through the crowd, my skin prickling with unease.

What is he up to now?

Massimo Caruso stands tall, a glass of champagne in his hand, looking down at his empire with a smug, untouchable grin. He waits for absolute silence before he speaks.

"As you all know, the Caruso family values tradition, honor, and strength," my father announces, his eyes scanning the room until they lock onto me. "Four months ago, my eldest daughter, Rosalia, suffered a tragic loss. Tonight, I am proud to declare that she has officially completed her mourning period. And to ensure the continued security and prosperity of our interests, she will now enter a new alliance."

A collective breath catches in the room. I hold mine, afraid to suck in sir.

"Her engagement to Dominic Kane has been agreed upon, effective immediately," Massimo declares, raising his glass.

The crowd erupts into a low shockwave of whispers, but my world stops completely. Dominic Kane. The head of the powerful private military syndicate. A man feared from Washington to New York.

Movement from the edge of the dais draws my gaze. The crowd parts, and a towering figure steps forward into the brilliant light of the chandeliers.