Page 25 of Bound in Ruin

Keane lets out a quiet laugh, adjusting his cuffs. "Afraid so, man. They’re still nursing their bruised egos over not getting an invite to your little spontaneous courthouse swap."

I scoff, watching the group out of the corner of my eye. "Just because I gave them a heads-up about the marriage doesn't mean they needed a front-row seat. Hell, even you weren't there."

"And my feelings are deeply hurt," Keane chuckles dryly, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, humor them for five minutes. They're still essential assets."

I sigh and adjust my suit jacket as we walk over to where the highest-ranking members of my organization are seated. The moment I approach, all three men stand up straight to greet me, their expressions a mix of guarded respect and subtle irritation.

"Boss," Marcus grunts, stepping forward first. He’s my Director of Intelligence and Homeland Security, the man who controls half the government's surveillance apparatus and makes sure our legal fronts stay completely spotless.

Beside him stands Abram, the Minister of Port Commerce and Trade. He's the one who oversees every shipping lane, customs official, and cargo manifest entering the country, ensuring our high-value shipments clear international waters without a single eye raised.

Rounding out the group is Yulian, my Chief of Special Operations—the man who handles the dirty work on the ground when diplomacy inevitably fails.

"Gentlemen," I say, leaning against the edge of the table, my tone smooth but commanding. "I hope the drinks are to your liking."

"The liquor is top-tier, Boss," Marcus says, lifting his glass of scotch in a subtle salute before setting it down hard on the table. "Though a few of us were a little surprised to hear about the ceremony after the fact. A union of this magnitude... we usually expect a seat at the table."

Abram clears his throat, adjusting his silk tie. "Marcus speaks for all of us, Dominic. The Caruso name carries heavy political baggage. Had we known the ink was drying yesterday, we could have aligned our diplomatic and trade fronts to absorb any sudden market fallout."

Yulian doesn't say a word, but his crossed arms and stern jawline echo the exact same sentiment. They’re complaining, flexing their seniority in the only quiet, heavily veiled way they dare. None of them would ever dream of calling me out directly—they know better than to test where my authority ends and their survival begins.

I look at each of them slowly, taking a measured sip of my bourbon as the silence between us stretches thin. I don't owe them an explanation. I don't owe them an apology.

"My personal affairs are handled on my timeline, not the council's," I say, my voice dropping into a low, uncompromising quiet that cuts right through their posturing. "The decision was made, executed, and sealed. It is final, and it is not open for discussion or debate. Your job isn't to manage my marriage—it's to handle your respective sectors. Am I clear?"

The shift in the air is instantaneous. Marcus’s eye twitches, Abram immediately drops his chin in a swift nod, and Yulian relaxes his stance.

Before the tension can curdle into outright hostility, Keane steps smoothly into the center of the circle, a charming, easy smile plastered on his face.

"All right, gentlemen, let's not waste good alcohol on business talk," Keane interrupts, signaling a passing waiter with a raised hand. "Tonight is a celebration. Let's get another round over here—top shelf for the council."

As the men take their glasses from the tray, an excited shriek echoes across the patio, calling out Rosalia’s name. It isn't particularly loud over the low hum of the crowd and the soft music, but my ears are so finely tuned to her tonight that I don't miss a single syllable.

I turn my head across the garden.

It’s Rosalia’s youngest sister—Daniela, I think—running toward her with open arms. She clearly just arrived at the party. But my eyes quickly bypass the girl and lock onto the figure walking several paces behind her.

Massimo Caruso.

He’s stalking toward Rosalia, his chin set and his shoulders tense, radiating a sharp, volatile authority. Something about his stance instantly puts me off. I don’t like the way he looks at her. I don't like the predator's edge in his stride.

Across the lawn, Rosalia completely freezes. Her body locks up, her shoulders hunching inward as if she's preparing to take a physical hit.

That frozen state is all it takes.

I abandon the council mid-conversation, stepping away from Keane and the men without so much as an apology. I don't give a damn that he's her father—no man is going to make my wife look like terrified prey in my own house. Now her house, too.

I close the distance between us with long, fast strides, arriving at Rosalia’s side at the exact same second Massimo reaches her.

The moment I close the gap, Rosalia sways slightly into my space, leaning her shoulder right against my chest for support. It’s a subtle, instinctive reaction, and I’m fairly sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

The weight of her body pressed against mine sends a jolt through my blood, making me even more desperate to tear down anyone who threatens her.

I slide a heavy, protective arm around her waist, pulling her tight against my side as I glare down at Massimo Caruso.

I don’t have any problem with the man on paper.

Technically, I suppose I should be grateful to him for making it so easy for me to secure this marriage with Rosalia. But after seeing the underhanded circumstances surrounding how he handed her over, I lost whatever shred of respect I might have had for him.