Page 8 of Bound in Ruin

My breath catches in my throat. I spin toward him, my lips parting to rip into him, to tell him exactly where he can shove his orders.

Before I can squeeze out a single word, Dominic shifts the Escalade into drive, stepping hard on the gas. The powerful engine roars, pulling away from the curb so fast my hands slip off the handle.

He leaves me standing on the cold concrete driveway, choking on his exhaust, shaking violently from a blinding, overwhelming storm of anger.

My father doesn’t arrive back at the house until well past midnight. I am forced to wait another agonizing half hour in the dark before Dani comes knocking softly on my bedroom door.

I stay still under the covers, forcing my breathing to stay slow and even, pretending to be fast asleep until her footsteps fade down the hallway.

After being married to a man who openly abused and tormented me for ten years, I’m no stranger to my sisters’ pitiful glances. But we all thought I was finally free. We thought Luciano's death was the end of it. And now, this? When will I truly be free? When does my life actually belong to me?

Once I’m sure Dani is tucked safely into bed, I swing my legs out of bed and march fully dressed straight up the grand hallway toward my father’s study. I know exactly where the bastard will be.

I don't bother knocking. I throw the heavy double doors open, letting them slam hard against the walls.

Massimo glances up from a stack of paperwork on his mahogany desk, his brow furrowing as his anger instantly intensifies.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he barks, slamming his pen down. "Barging into my office like an animal? You might be twenty-seven, Rosalia, but you are not too old for me to beat some goddamn respect into you."

"Why?" my voice rings out, razor-sharp and trembling with rage. "You sell me off to Dominic Kane without even looking me in the eye, and you expect me to sit quietly? I demand an explanation, Father! You owe me that much!"

Massimo doesn't flinch. He sits back in his leather chair, his face cold, unbothered, and utterly devoid of remorse. He refuses to justify a single thing.

"I owe you nothing," he says, his tone deadpan and ruthless. "You are my daughter, and you will do what is necessary for this family."

Desperation claws at my throat. For a wild, split second, I consider packing a bag, stealing a car, and running away—disappearing so far into the night that neither he nor the DeLorenzos will ever find me.

As if reading the sudden shift in my eyes, Massimo leans forward, resting his heavy forearms on the desk. "Go ahead. Think about running," he sneers, a sick, knowing smile touching his lips. "Try it. The moment you cross that gate without Kane, I'll pull Daniela under his roof. I'm sure Kane will take any of you, he doesn’t really care which one. As long as the alliance holds."

The air completely drains from my lungs. The threat hits me like a physical blow, freezing the blood in my veins. He would do it. He would drag Dani straight into the hell I just escaped without a second thought.

I have no easy escape. I have no escape at all.

I want to scream at him, curse at him, and tell him how much of a horrible father he is. But what’s the point? It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.

Without giving him the satisfaction of seeing the tears burning behind my eyes, I turn on my heel and walk out of his office, shutting the door quietly behind me.

I walk back down the silent corridor, every step feeling like I am dragging lead weights. The moment I step inside my room, the lock clicks into place, and the tight, unbreakable mask I’ve worn all night shatters into a million pieces.

The breakdown hits me fast and violent.

I stumble into the adjoining bathroom, my hands shaking so violently I can barely grasp the zipper of my gown. I yank it down, letting the expensive, heavy silk pool at my feet like a pool of black ink. Standing in my underwear before the full-length mirror, I force myself to look.

Under the sharp, white bathroom lights, my skin tells the true story of the last ten years. Scars crisscross my chest, my stomach, and my back—faded silver lines and raised, jagged pale marks left behind by Luciano’s brutal cruelty.

No one knows these scars exist. I have spent a decade carefully choosing gowns with high necklines, long sleeves, and structured backs to keep his violence hidden from the world. And no one will ever know. The sheer shame of it eats me alive—the suffocating embarrassment that I was too weak to protect myself, too pathetic to fight back against the monster I was given to.

A choked, ragged sob escapes my throat, and then the floodgates burst. I drop to my knees on the cold tile, wrapping my arms around my middle, weeping until my chest aches and my lungs burn for air. I cry for the seventeen-year-old girl who was sold, I cry for the free life I almost had, and I cry for the brand-new nightmare standing right outside my door.

Eventually, the tears run dry, leaving behind a hollow, aching numbness.

I force myself up, step into the shower, and turn the water on ice-cold, scrubbing my skin until it turns raw, desperate to wash away the lingering memory of Dominic’s dark eyes and my father’s cruel words.

Exhausted, broken, and completely drained, I pull on a long-sleeved silk pajama set, drag myself over to the bed, and crawl beneath the heavy covers. I pull the pillow over my head, pressing it hard against my ears to drown out the silence, and finally let the darkness swallow me whole.

Dominic arrives far too early the next morning, before the sun has even fully cleared the horizon.

A sharp, impatient knock rattles against my bedroom door. I drag myself out of bed, my eyes swollen and raw, and pull the door open to find my father standing in the hallway. He doesn't look at my face; his eyes are already cold, dismissive, and focused entirely on the transaction.