Bound in Obsession (Brides of the Blood Empire #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Eleonora

I sit across from Sienna, the limousine gliding through Manhattan, as we head to the cathedral. Full escort trailing us, two SUVs front and back.

Camilla is already working the fastenings on Sienna’s gown, her fingers quick and practiced as she loosens the delicate buttons running down her back.

The car sways slightly beneath us, the steady hum of the engine filling the tight space while fabric rustles and beads clink softly against one another.

Sienna’s hands are shaking as she grips the edge of the seat, her breathing uneven. It breaks my heart to see my little sister like this.

“Are you still sure?” Her voice comes out small, barely above the low rumble of the road beneath us.

I don’t hesitate. I nod once.

She swallows hard, her legs bouncing beneath the layers of tulle as Camilla carefully lifts the heavy skirt up and over her hips.

I reach across and cover Sienna’s hands with mine, stilling them. My thumbs brush over her knuckles, grounding her.

“Breathe, Si,” I murmur. “It’s going to go exactly the way we organized.”

She lets out a shaky exhale and nods.

We’ve planned this for weeks and it’s finally happening. Domenico is waiting, somewhere beyond the hedges at the cathedral, ready to take her out of this life the second she reaches him.

It’s risky, I know, but I won’t let her end up like the rest of us, chained to some man who sees her only as an acquisition. We’re all headed for that cage eventually. At least one of us gets out.

Rosalia and Daniela, our other sisters are already at the church with father. As long as the bride arrives veiled, no one will notice anything. Well at least until it’s time to kiss the bride.

Andrea Gallo won’t be happy when the veil comes up and it’s my face staring back at him instead of Sienna’s.

He’s not the type to shrug off a bait-and-switch, even if the contract technically holds.

One Caruso daughter is as good as another on paper.

But men like him don’t care about fine print when their pride is involved.

He’ll see it as disrespect. I’ve heard the stories about how possessive he is, how much he’s ruled by pride. I can already picture the look on his face, the things he’d do to me for this.

Sienna steps out of her dress carefully, goosebumps rising on her arms in the cool air of the car.

I step in. The silk is still warm from her body.

Camilla yanks the bodice tight around me, hooks snap into place, zipper glides up.

We’re almost the same height, same shape, and the dress fits like it was always meant for me.

Next come the jewels. Rings slide off Sienna’s fingers onto mine. Bracelets clasp around my wrists. The Caruso heirloom necklace, emerald and old gold, settles against my collarbone, a symbol our father loves more than his daughters.

Camilla adjusts each piece with meticulous care until there’s nothing left to distinguish me from the bride I’m replacing.

Sienna and I have always looked alike. With only a year between us, we have same height, similar body, the same dark hair and bone structure. Enough resemblance that, under a veil, no one will see the difference they aren’t looking for.

I lower the veil myself. Lace falls over my face, softening the world into pale shadows.

Sienna’s eyes are glassy. She reaches up, touches my cheek through the veil like she’s memorizing me. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, El.”

“You don’t have to.” My voice stays steady. “Just go. Be happy. That’s the only payment I want. Live for us.”

Since Mama died, it’s always been us against the world. With Rosalia married off to Luciano, that leaves me. I look out for the younger ones. I absorb what I can so they don’t have to.

Papa never hid how much he resents the hand he was dealt. Five daughters. No sons. He says it out loud sometimes, “I built an empire, and I have to leave it to are girls who’ll spread their legs for the next man with a better offer.”

The truth is he sees us as nothing but bargaining chips.

The convoy rolls to a final, smooth stop. My breath catches. Through the veil, the cathedral comes into view. Guests are already gathered outside, a polished crowd in tailored suits and couture dresses.

At the base of the steps, Papa waits, hands clasped behind his back, mouth drawn into a thin line. He’s meant to walk Sienna down the aisle. I can feel his irritation from here. He hates waiting. We took longer than we should have back at the house, running through the plan one last time.

If he were not in public, he’d have lashed out. But there are witnesses, and appearances matter.

The door opens. Cool air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of roses which makes me nauseous.

Security, two of our men in black, flank the exit.

I step out first, Camilla right beside me.

I keep my head lowered, eyes fixed on the stone path.

The heavy silk of the gown drags slightly with each step.

Behind us, Sienna follows. She’s wrapped in a dark silk scarf Camilla pressed into her hands before the door opened, the fabric draped neatly over her head and around her neck.

Her hair is tucked beneath it, only a few loose strands visible at the edges. With her head bowed, her face stays mostly hidden. She pretends to fuss with the train of my dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

Papa’s gaze sweeps over us. I feel it like heat on my skin, even through the lace. He steps forward, ready to offer his arm to the bride.

Camilla moves before he can reach me. “Sienna’s train caught on the step back there,” she says quickly.

He opens his mouth, probably to snap, so Camilla quickly adds, “It’s a small tear, but you know how these photographers are. One good shot of a ripped hem and it’s all over the society pages. We’ll fix it in thirty seconds.”

“Eleonora, make sure you take off that hideous scarf before coming into the church,” he snaps, pointing at Sienna who tries her best to sound like me as she continues to fuss with my dress. “Yes, papa.”

She’s good, because he doesn’t even notice the difference. Camila hooks her hand firmly around my arm, and steers me away from him. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

We slip left.

Sienna and I peel away from the main path, turning into the narrow side garden corridor. Roses line the walls, thorns catching at the chiffon as I move faster than the dress allows.

Gravel crunches softly beneath my shoes as the noise of the crowd fades behind us. The corridor is narrow, hedges rising high on either side, blocking sightlines from the cathedral steps.

“I will stay back and keep watch,” Camilla says, briefly hugging Sienna. She whispers something in her ear before letting her go.

At the end of the path, a matte-black sedan waits. Domenico stands beside it, leaning against the driver’s side. His eyes lock on Sienna the second she appears, and something raw flickers across his face. Relief.

Sienna reaches for me, hands gripping my arms as she pulls me into a quick, fierce embrace, face buried against my shoulder. Her voice breaks on the words. “Thank you. God, Eleonora, thank you.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Go,” I whisper against her hair. “Before the next security sweep.”

She nods, tears soaking into the lace. Then she pulls away, straightens her spine, and steps toward him.

Domenico doesn’t hesitate. He takes her hand and threads his fingers through hers. He gives me a nod.

He’s one of Papa’s soldiers. Sienna met him a year ago at one of Papa’s events, when he was assigned to security. She’s been in love with him ever since. And Papa has no idea they’ve been sneaking around right under his nose. I’m happy they finally get to be together.

Within seconds, they’re gone. I watch until they’re completely out of sight.

A small, fierce happiness blooms in my chest. She’s free. Sienna’s finally getting the thing none of us were ever supposed to have: a happily ever after.

In our world, happily ever after is a myth we’re raised to stop believing in early.

Marriages aren’t about love, they’re about leverage.

Men take mistresses openly, parade them without shame, while their wives learn to look the other way.

If you’re lucky, that’s all you endure. If you’re not…

well, some men don’t stop at cheating. Some talk with their fists.

But Domenico? He looks at Sienna like she hung the moon and the stars just for him. He worships her. And she loves him back, the kind of love that makes you stupid and brave at the same time.

They have what the rest of us will never touch. The fact that she’s going to have it, gives me the courage to turn back toward the cathedral instead of running after her. If one of us gets a chance at a life chosen freely, then this is worth it. Worth whatever comes next.

I have no idea where they’re headed. It’s better that way. If Papa decides to hunt them down, none of us can give him answers. Not even under pressure.

I let out a slow breath that fogs the lace in front of my mouth. One sister safe. One life spared the cage. I turn back toward the chapel path. The roses snag at my skirt again as I move.

I lift the veil slightly, just enough to readjust it.

Before I can take another step, a deep baritone slices through the quiet behind, startling me. “Usually, brides don’t sneak around on their wedding day.”

Ice floods my spine. I stop mid-stride.

I lower the veil slowly and turn. He stands a few paces away, as if he’s grown out of the garden itself. Where the hell did he come from? The garden was empty a second ago. I’m sure of it. My gaze flicks to the rose bushes behind him. How long has this man been standing there?

Did he see Sienna leave? The thought crashes through me so fast my chest goes tight. My eyes dart toward the side gate where she disappeared with Domenico. They are gone now. But what if he saw?

A cold wave of panic creeps up my spine. If he knows, if he tells Papa—

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.