Page 56 of Bound in Ruin

She’s currently snapping her seatbelt in place as I pull the car away from the curb and merge into the quiet weekend traffic.

Most importantly, the morning wasn't a total waste of strategy. When Judge Sterling excused himself during the break, I trailed him down the back hallway. He was on the phone, and from the few sentences I caught, he’s scheduled to meet someone in private later tonight.

"So," Rosalia says, turning in her seat to look at me, her eyes sharp with curiosity. "What did you actually find out when you followed Judge Sterling during the break?"

"He was making a discreet phone call," I tell her, keeping my eyes on the road. "He's meeting someone late tonight. Someone who doesn't want to be seen in a courtroom."

Without taking my hands off the wheel for long, I tap the Bluetooth display on the dash and dial Keane. He answers on the first ring.

"Dominic," Keane's voice comes through the speakers.

"I need you on Sterling's tail right now," I order cleanly. "He's meeting someone later. I want the exact address of the location, and I want to know who walks through that door."

"Got it. I'm on it," Keane replies.

"Keep me posted." I end the call with a press of a button.

Rosalia studies my side profile, her arms folded across her chest. "And what exactly do you plan to do once you find out who he's meeting?"

"Just make sure you're judged fairly," I say smoothly.

She lets out a quiet, skeptical breath, looking at me with a gaze that clearly says she doesn't believe me entirely. She knows how I operate, and "fair" in my world usually involves violence.

"Why does this will matter so much to you, Dominic?" she asks softly, the playful mood from the cooking studio settling into something deeper. "Why are you going through all this trouble for me to get Luciano's money?"

I glance over at her for a brief second, my jaw tightening before I look back at the street. "Because after everything that bastard put you through, you deserve every single thing he left behind. You earned it, Rosalia. I'm just making sure no one steals it from you."

She hums softly, processing my words, but doesn't press the subject any further. She picks up her phone, tapping away at the screen as a quiet silence settles between us in the leather interior of the car.

A moment later, she looks up, breaking the quiet. "I got a call from the magazine yesterday. They want to expand the photo shoot into a full interview."

"I already know," I say plainly, not breaking my gaze from the road.

Rosalia rolls her eyes, mutters something under her breath, and goes right back to her phone.

As soon as I pull the car into the main garage and cut the engine, I unbuckle my seatbelt and start to alight. But Rosalia doesn’t move. She stays in her seat, staring out the front windshield with an intent focus.

I pause, resting one arm on the steering wheel, and turn to look at her. "What's the problem?"

Rosalia turns her head, a daring spark lighting up her dark eyes. "I’m a bit stressed. Let’s drive one of your vintage cars. The one we rode the other day.”

The 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray.

"Alright," I say after a beat, stepping out of the car. "Let's go."

We walk around to the private garage, the automatic doors rolling up to reveal the classic, polished cars sitting under the soft warm lights. I unlock the Stingray, step over to the passenger side, and pull the door open for her.

Rosalia stops right in her tracks, folding her arms across her chest and staring at me. "I'm not sitting over there, Dominic. I want to drive it myself."

I frown slightly. "Rosalia, no."

"Why not?" she challenges, taking a step closer. "The other day… that drive... feeling the wind in my hair, being out there... it made me feel free. I want to actually drive it this time.”

"It's a rare, highly modified classic with a manual transmission, zero modern power steering, and a ridiculously touchy clutch," I state firmly, holding my ground. "It’s hard to handle. You're not driving it."

Rosalia lets out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, her eyes flashing with pure defiance as she steps right into my space. "So you want me to trust your hands on my body in your bed, but you won't trust my hands on your steering wheel?"

The words hit me like a sharp slap to the chest.