Page 3 of Bound in Obsession
The entire plan collapses.
Papa will drag Sienna back before she even reaches the city limits. Domenico won’t make it out alive. Papa will make sure of that.
No.
That can’t happen.
Not before the ceremony begins. Not before Andrea and I stand at the altar and the deal is sealed. Once the vows are said, the alliance stands. Papa can rage all he wants, but the contract will already be done.
The man is several feet away, but close enough that I can smell the faint cedar of his cologne cutting through the roses. He doesn’t look like one of Papa’s guards. He’s tall. Broad enough that the suit looks like it was cut around him instead of worn. Crisp white shirt open at the throat, no tie.
My pulse stutters. It makes no sense. This man is a stranger. A threat, and yet my body reacts before my mind can catch up. Something tightens low in my stomach, spreading slowly through my chest like heat I can’t control. My breath turns shallow, my skin suddenly too aware, too sensitive to his presence.
There’s something in the way he holds himself, like the air bends around him instead of the other way around. A man used to being obeyed. Not the kind who takes orders. Is he a guest? Maybe someone from the Gallo side.
My pulse starts to pound in my ears. I glance toward the cathedral steps, but the hedges block most of the view. I can hear voices drifting through the air, guests talking, someone laughing, the faint echo of music from inside. If I scream, they might hear me.
I open my mouth to say something, then I see the gun. Low in his right hand, barrel pointed at the gravel. He holds it casually, the way someone carries a phone or a cigarette. Black steel catching the last of the afternoon light filtering through the leaves. My breath snags in my throat.
“Whatever’s spinning in that pretty head of yours,” he says, voice baritone-deep and unhurried, the low timbre rolling through the quiet garden, “don’t.”
The words aren’t loud. He doesn’t even raise the gun. But something in his voice settles deep in my bones, and every instinct in me goes still.
He tilts his head, studying me through the veil the way a predator sizes up something interesting that wandered into his territory. Dark hair swept back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes the color of storm clouds over the harbor. Extremely handsome. The kind of handsome that should come with a warning label.
Whatever he is, he’s not here to admire the bride.
CHAPTER TWO
Eleonora
He approaches calmly, steps measured, like the garden path belongs to him and I’m the intruder. As he closes the distance, I catch the ink peeking from his collar and curling around the cuffs of his sleeves.
He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet those flat whisky brown eyes, broad enough that the air feels like it’s shrinking around us. Danger rolls off him in waves.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can see it fluttering under the silk bodice. Sweat prickles at the base of my spine despite the cool air.
My eyes dart, left toward the main path, right toward the gate Domenico used, back to the roses that suddenly look like they could snag me and hold me here forever.
The dress is heavy, restrictive; the train would tangle around my ankles before I made it ten feet. He’d drop me with one shot before I even cleared the hedge.
He must read every frantic calculation on my face because his voice drops, low and quiet, almost intimate.
“If you make any move, your sister will be dead before security even gets to her.”
My breath catches. I whip my head toward the path.
Through the hedges I see Camilla standing near the path, speaking politely to one of the guests. Just behind her stands another man in a dark suit. Close enough that if he reached out, he could grab her before she even had time to turn. The man looks straight at me. Then he gives a small nod.
I turn back to the man. “Who are you?” The words come out steadier than I feel. “What do you want?”
He tilts his head again, the barest curve touching his mouth. Not a smile. Something darker.
“Inquisitive, aren’t we?” His tone is almost amused, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
I look back at Camilla, still talking, and the scream builds in my chest to let her know of the impending danger. I open my mouth to let it out. But he’s on me in an instant.
One hand clamps over my mouth, hard, muffling the sound before it can escape. His palm tastes faintly of gunmetal and cedar. His other arm snakes around my waist, pinning me back against the solid wall of his chest. He’s warm, too warm, and so close the whiff of his cologne invades my senses, and I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my spine, slow and unhurried while mine races like it’s trying to break free.
