Page 86 of Bound in Ruin

The staff finishes spreading out the oversized knit blanket near the shade of an old oak tree, arranging silver trays of fresh pastries, cut fruit, hot coffee, and mimosa flutes. We sink onto the blanket together, Yapper immediately bounding over to inspect the perimeter, happily accepting every tiny piece of bacon my sisters secretly drop for him.

For the next hour, the garden is filled with genuine, effortless laughter. We talk about everything and nothing—Daniela complaining about her recent disagreements with Dad, Sienna detailing a funny story with her designer, and Eleonora keeping everyone in check. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel light.

Once the plates are cleared and we are all lounging back on the soft cushions, Sienna turns to me, her sharp eyes narrowing with sudden, unbridled curiosity.

She nudges my shoulder with her knee. "So... how did you and the big bad mobster handle your fight last night?"

I freeze mid-sip of my coffee, the cup lingering near my lips. I try to keep my face completely blank, but a heat flares up my neck, betraying me instantly.

Eleonora’s eyes widen. "Rosalia..."

"No way," Daniela gasps, sitting up straight.

"Did you...?" Camilla trails off, hands flying to her mouth.

"We had sex," I blurt out, unable to hold the secret under the weight of four intense sisterly stares.

The garden erupts.

Sienna throws her head back and hollers, clapping her hands together wildly, while Daniella lets out a loud, dramatic gasp. Even Eleonora shakes her head, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping her lips as Camilla giggles into her hands.

"I knew it!" Sienna laughs, pointing a finger at me. "I knew the moment you saw him, you were going to cave!"

"I didn't cave!" I protest defensively, though my face is burning. "It just... happened. It was intense."

"Clearly," Daniella smirks.

Once the initial wave of teasing dies down, I look down at my lap, tracing the rim of my porcelain mug. The playful mood softens into something deeper.

"I care about him," I admit softly, the truth hanging in the cool morning air between us. "It feels so strange... and honestly, terrifying. After everything I survived with Luciano, after everything our father put us through, feeling this way about a man who lied to me makes me feel like I'm losing my mind."

My sisters settle around me, the teasing vanishing completely.

"Rosalia," Eleonora says softly, reaching across the blanket to lay her hand over mine. "The pain from your past is trying to protect you. It's telling you to build a wall so you never get hurt again. But you can't let past trauma be the only thing that decides your future."

"Dominic messed up," Sienna adds, her voice unusually gentle. "He built a foundation on a secret. But he’s not trying to trap you, Rosalia. He's trying to keep you."

"Think about why it hurts so bad," Camilla whispers quietly.

Her words strike a deep, quiet nerve.

I close my eyes as the realization slowly hits me. I’m not just angry because Dominic kept a secret. I’m not just furious that he used a legal proxy to get to Luciano's files.

I’m hurt because I had actually fallen in love with the life we were building. I’m hurt because I desperately, fiercely wanted what we had become—the quiet morning coffees, the protective glances, the goofy moments with Yapper, the feeling of absolute safety—to be real. I wasn't just grieving a loss of trust; I was terrifyingly afraid of losing him.

I change the topic to lighter things, and thankfully, my sisters take the cue without pressing further. By the time they leave, the garden feels quiet again, but the knot in my chest has finally loosened.

I head back up to the suite with Yapper cradled in my arm. I fully expect to walk in and find Dominic waiting—ready to press, to talk, to push for the forgiveness he desperately wanted last night. But the room is entirely empty.

As the hours tick by, he never comes up. He stays away.

His restraint unsettles me in a way I didn't anticipate. I’m so used to men taking up space, demanding immediate answers, and expecting absolute obedience from me. Luciano never gave me room to breathe; my father never gave me a choice. But Dominic is giving me an entire ocean of distance, leaving the ball entirely in my court.

Later in the evening, I hear a soft, almost imperceptible knock at the suite door.

When I open it, the hallway is empty, but sitting neatly on the polished floor outside is a wooden tray. On it rests a fresh, steaming cup of the exact dark roast coffee I like, a bowl of specialized gourmet food for Yapper, and a small glass plate holding a slice of lemon tart—my absolute favorite dessert from the bakery across town.

Beside the plate lies a small, heavy silver key ring. The keys to the vintage 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray parked in the garage.