Page 75 of Bound in Ruin

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Dante snarls, shoving his attorney back so hard the man stumbles into the gallery railing.

Dante turns his wild, bloodshot eyes onto us, his breathing coming in heavy, ragged wheezes. His chest moves frantically under his suit, his teeth bared in an ugly, animalistic rage. "This isn't over! You hear me, Rosalia? This isn't over! You killed my brother and you will pay!"

Before Dante can take a step toward our table, two armed bailiffs step between us, their hands resting on their holsters. "Sir, you need to exit the courtroom immediately, or you will be held in contempt!"

Dante spits on the carpet, casting one final, lethal glare at me before spinning on his heel and storming out through the heavy double doors, his legal team scurrying behind him like terrified rodents.

I stare at the doors as they swing shut, my heart hammering against my ribs, but the cold fear I usually feel around Dante never comes.

Because two large, warm hands gently cup my face, turning me away from the doors.

I look up, and the breath catches completely in my throat.

Dominic is smiling.

It isn't his usual dark, dangerous smirk or the cold, amused glint he gives his enemies. It is a full, rare, breathtaking smile that lights up his sharp features and reaches all the way to his dark eyes.

"You did it," he rumbles, his gravelly voice dripping with an unscripted, overwhelming pride. His heavy thumbs softly trace over my cheekbones, catching a single tear before it can fall. "It's all yours. Every single bit of it."

I stare at him, my heart doing a wild, erratic flip in my chest. "Dominic... we actually won."

"Of course, we did," he says softly, his smile softening into something intensely tender as he leans down to press a warm, lingering kiss to my forehead. "I told you I wouldn't let him take what belongs to you."

Looking into his eyes, hearing the quiet, absolute satisfaction in his voice, a realization hits me straight in the chest: this victory wasn't just a strategic move or a way to crush a rival.

He was genuinely, deeply happy simply because I got what I deserved. It mattered to him on a deeply personal level—because it mattered to me.

"Come on," Dominic says softly, his thumb giving my knuckles a warm, reassuring squeeze as he pulls me. "I have a bottle of a hundred-year-old vintage sitting in the cellar back at the estate. I’ve been saving it for a proper occasion."

I look up at him, raising an eyebrow with a soft laugh. "A hundred years old? You're serious?"

"Dead serious," he rumbles, a faint, rare glint of pure amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "And I think securing you this definitely qualifies. Let's go home and open it."

A bright, genuine smile spreads across my face, the last remaining threads of stress completely evaporating from my chest. "Yes. Let's go."

Dominic laces his long fingers firmly through mine, taking the lead as we walk past our smiling legal team. With his arm braced beside me and his presence solid and unwavering at my side, we step out of the heavy courtroom doors together and into the light.

The quiet of our suite envelops us the moment the door clicks shut, shutting out the rest of the world.

Dominic walks over to the wet bar, the soft glow of the amber lamps reflecting off the polished marble counter. He reaches for a heavy, dark glass bottle, uncorking it with a low, satisfying pop that echoes through the room.

"1926 vintage," Dominic says, his deep voice carrying a touch of reverence as he carefully tilts the bottle, pouring the rich, deep crimson liquid into two crystal glasses. "A hundred years old. Kept in the family cellar under temperature lock for three generations."

I lean against the counter, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him with a teasing smile. "A hundred-year-old wine? Are you sure it hasn't turned into expensive vinegar by now?"

Dominic pauses, lifting his head to shoot me a dark, amused look over the rim of the glass. "Have a little faith in my cellar. I promise you, it's aged to perfection."

He slides one glass across the slick stone to me, then picks up his own. I swirl the dark red wine, bringing it to my lips and taking a small, slow sip. The flavor is impossibly smooth—deep oak, dark cherry, and a subtle hint of spice that warms my chest instantly.

"Okay, fine," I admit, looking up at him through my lashes. "It's incredible. You win."

"I always win," he rumbles smoothly, taking a sip from his glass.

I roll my eyes with a soft laugh. "So, how long have you been hiding this bottle back there, waiting for a 'proper occasion'?"

Dominic's smirk fades into something far softer, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, quiet gravity. He sets his glass down on the bar, leaning forward slightly as he looks at me.

"I bought it back from the main vault the day we had sex for the first time," he admits softly, his gravelly voice dropping. "I've been holding onto it, waiting for the perfect moment to open it with you. I wasn't going to open it with anyone else."