Page 4 of Bound in Ruin

Panic claws at my throat. A neighbor. Someone must have heard something, seen the missing guards, or orchestrated this entire thing and called them. I look down at my hands, then at the nightstand where the glass of drugged water sits right beside his corpse. I left the house under the cover of night, I drugged my husband, and now I have returned to find him butchered.

The setup is flawless. To anyone walking through that door, I look entirely, completely guilty.

I force myself to close my eyes and take a deep, ragged breath, fighting to keep the rising hysteria from breaking my composure. A bitter, cynical realization settles heavy in my chest. I thought I had freed myself at that clinic tonight. I thought I had finally taken control of my own destiny.

But as the sirens screech to a halt in the driveway below, I realize the terrifying truth: even in death, Luciano still has me completely imprisoned.

CHAPTER TWO

ROSALIA

FOUR MONTHS LATER…

If there’s one thing I hate more than the suffocating weight of my own skin, it’s a gala thrown by my father.

The ballroom is deafening, a glittering cage of clinking crystal, low laughter, and the heavy scent of expensive cologne and old money. I can already feel the eyes crawling all over me—sharp, speculative, and entirely merciless. It turns my stomach into a tight, sick knot.

My father, Massimo Caruso, claims tonight is a display of absolute strength and unity. It has been four months since Luciano was butchered in his own bed, and the vacuum left behind threatened to tear our world apart. So, my father does what he always does: he puts on a lavish show, inviting the very vultures who want to pick our bones clean.

The sentiment behind it makes me want to scream. These past four months have been a relentless, waking nightmare.

I am back under my father’s roof, trapped in a grand estate that feels no different than the prison Luciano kept me in. Worse, I have been surviving under a constant siege from the DeLorenzo clan. Luciano’s brother, Dante, has spent every waking second trying to pin the murder on me. Why wouldn't he? The staff placed me leaving Luciano's room right before the timeline of the murder. I was the perfect, convenient scapegoat.

It is exhausting trying to prove your innocence to a pack of wolves, especially when your own father refuses to stand by you. To Massimo, I am not a grieving daughter; I am a damaged asset.

A sudden shift near the grand arched entrance catches my attention, and I look toward the doors just as my sisters glide into the ballroom, trailed by their husbands.

Thank God. A genuine breath of air finally reaches my lungs.

"Rosy!" The soft, eager voice of Daniela, my youngest sister, cuts through the ambient noise, and a delicate hand hooks into my elbow.

She looks radiant, her gown flowing around her like liquid gold, her youthful face untouched by the cynicism that has thoroughly rotted mine.

"Ellie, Si, and Cami are here," she whispers excitedly, nodding toward the entrance.

"I can see them, Dani," I reply, the tight line of my mouth finally softening into a real smile.

My sisters are the only pure joy I have left in this dark world. Just like he did with me, our father traded three of them away like livestock to secure his empire. But unlike me, fortune favored them. They found good, powerful men who genuinely cherish them—men who built a protective wall around my sisters and refused to let Massimo bully or manipulate them ever again. Seeing them safe, seeing them loved and truly free, is the only thing that keeps my own heart beating.

The men give us respectful nods before heading toward the private bar to talk strategy, giving us Caruso daughters our space. The moment they are out of earshot, Eleonora, Sienna, and Camilla rush over to join Daniela and me.

We cluster together, letting out quiet, muffled squeals of absolute relief as we throw our arms around one another, burying ourselves in a warm, familiar embrace that temporarily shuts out the wolves circling the room.

The embrace breaks, but we stay close, a tight huddle of silk and diamonds in the center of the crowded floor.

After we finish exchanging frantic, breathless pleasantries, the warmth drains from Sienna’s face. Her brow furrows, her sharp eyes darting over my shoulder toward the raised dais where our father stands with some associates.

"Is this really the right time to be throwing a massive gala?" Sienna whispers, her voice dropping to a sharp, suspicious undertone. "I don't trust this, Rosy. I suspect Father. I think the man is up to something."

A chill ripples down my spine because I know she's right. Massimo never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. But looking around at my sisters, I see the genuine worry etched into their features. I don't want to breed more fear between us. They have finally built safe, peaceful lives away from our father’s shadow, and I refuse to drag them back into my nightmare.

I force a soft, dismissive laugh and wave my hand, acting as if the weight of the world isn't crushing my shoulders.

"He’s been stewing in his study for weeks over the DeLorenzo fallout," I say smoothly, injecting a casual boredom into my tone. "He probably just wants to show off and cool his heels."

My sisters all let out a collective, synchronized scoff. None of them buy it for a second—they know Massimo too well—but they let me have the lie.

Before Sienna can dig any deeper, I quickly steer the conversation back to safer, happier ground.