Bound in Possession (Brides of the Blood Empire #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CAMILLA

The leather seats of the Mercedes feel cold against my bare shoulders, but it is the silence in the car that truly makes my skin crawl.

We landed in Sicily less than an hour ago, and my father didn't even give us time to rest. The second we arrived at our estate here, a designer was already waiting with a team, ready to dress me.

As soon as the gown is on, my makeup done, and my hair pinned into place, we are dragged right back out the door and into the car.

I look out the window as the dark Sicilian countryside blurs past. Beside me, my father, Massimo Caruso, stares straight ahead, completely unbothered.

Despite all the questions I have asked since we landed, he gives me no explanation beyond a flat, cold command: I must attend an event with him tonight.

He still won't tell me what kind of event it actually is.

But the most suspicious part—the thing that has my pulse racing—is the phone.

Before we stepped out of the house, he told me to leave mine behind because phones are not allowed at the venue.

Yet, as I glance over, I can see the outline of his own phone tucked safely inside his suit jacket. Rules only apply to me, apparently.

After everything that happened with Sienna and Alessandro, I have every right to be on edge.

That marriage ended up being a total disaster for my father, bringing him absolutely zero benefit.

Because of that, I am incredibly suspicious of his sudden plans.

It is always a bad sign when it involves expensive dresses, guarded silence, and a forced trip to another country.

The only reason I am not completely panicking is that he hasn't brought up the word marriage to me. Not once. Holding onto that small piece of relief, I keep my mouth shut and stay on my best behavior.

I turn to look at him, staring at the hard, unyielding outline of his jaw, and swallow the lump in my throat.

"Why aren't the others coming with us to this event?" I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible. "Usually, you want all of your daughters together."

My father doesn't look at me. His profile remains fixed, carved from granite. "Your sisters are where they need to be," he says, his voice flat and freezing. "Tonight is about obedience and family duty, Camilla. Do not ask again."

I force myself to stare back out the window, trying not to let my face show the sudden spike of anxiety inside me. My father is a man of habits, and usually, when Massimo Caruso parades his daughters in public, he brings us all out together.

The pure Caruso girls.

We are decoration to show off his wealth, or a commodity to maintain his power.

But tonight, I am completely on my own. Being the only daughter here makes the entire situation feel entirely wrong.

Eventually, the car slows down and stops. I look up, expecting the grand, brightly lit entrance of a luxury hotel. Instead, the driver pulls into a secluded, shadowed side entrance. Instantly, I know my instincts were right.

We alight from the car, the cool evening air hitting my skin. My heels click against the pavement, a sharp sound in the eerie quiet. Heavily armed men stand guard near the private doors, their hands resting flat against their weapons.

This is not a normal underworld dinner. This is not a political gathering.

No one steps forward to greet us warmly.

No one smiles. I scan the area, desperately looking for a single familiar face, but there are no society wives here.

No daughters laughing in groups. No women at all.

There are only men in dark, tailored suits, massive security details, and too many heavy, silent looks directed right at me.

My father grips my elbow, his hold tight enough to leave a bruise, and leads me inside. He bypasses the main hallways entirely, walking straight toward a private elevator.

The doors slide open, we step inside, and we begin to descend. Down, down, straight into the underground level of the hotel. The deeper we go, the colder the atmosphere becomes, until the air feels completely stripped of life.

When the elevator doors slide open, we step out into a massive, secured room, and the breath catches in my throat.

The room is filled with powerful men. I recognize some of the Italian faces from my father's inner circle, but there are just as many strangers speaking in Russian.

My eyes dart across the crowd, searching desperately, but the realization hits me like a slap to the face: there are absolutely no women in this room except me.

Before I can even process the thought, a large man steps into our path and points toward a heavy door on the far side of the room.

"This way," he says, his voice completely blank.

I dig my heels into the floor, resisting as my father tries to push me forward. "No," I say sharply, turning my head to look at him. "Father, what is happening? What is this place?"

He doesn't even look at me. His face is a mask of cold stone. "Do not embarrass me, Camilla," he hisses under his breath, his fingers digging harder into my arm.

Before I can argue, a man steps out from the shadows right in front of us. He raises a heavy camera, and a blinding white light flashes directly in my eyes. The sharp click of the shutter echoes in my ears.

I freeze, my hands clenching into fists. Blinding spots dance in my vision as a wave of hot anger mixes with my utter confusion.

“What is this?” I demand, my voice a low growl as I face the man who just took my photo. “Why would you take my picture?”

He completely ignores me, turning on his heel and walking away. I want to chase after him—to rip the camera right out of his hands—but doing that will cause a massive scene, and my father is already turning his eyes to me with a sharp, silent warning.

I hold my father’s gaze, expecting him to threaten the man for taking my picture without permission, but he does nothing.

Before I can even process his indifference, two heavy-set guards suddenly flank me and grab my arms. For a split second, shock paralyzes me, and I let them drag me forward a few steps. But the numbness wears off fast. I dig my heels into the polished floor, fighting against their weight.

“Leave me alone!” I snap, thrashing against their iron grips. “Where are you taking me? Dad!”

The guards don’t answer, and neither does my father. They ruthlessly steer me toward a heavy-duty steel door at the far end of the room. Hot tears prick the backs of my eyes, blurring my vision. “What is happening?”

No one answers. I fight with every single ounce of my might, throwing my weight around, but my strength is nothing compared to theirs.

My father simply stands there, watching me get ripped away from him, his expression completely blank, without a single shred of care or paternal instinct in his eyes.

The guards shove me through the heavy doorway and slam the door shut behind me, the lock clicking into place with a terrifyingly final thud.

The room is large, windowless, and sterile. I spin around, my heart hammering against my ribs, but the sight in front of me makes me freeze.

There are about a dozen young women in the room. Some are pacing like trapped animals. Some are sitting on the floor, burying their faces in their hands as they cry. Others just stare at the walls, their eyes completely empty, as if fear has already hollowed them out.

Looking around, I realize I am the best dressed person here. My gown is untouched, and my hair is still perfectly pinned. The other girls look entirely ruined—their expensive clothes are wrinkled, and their makeup is heavily smudged, probably from hours of crying.

There are empty seats scattered around the room, but I refuse to take them. Sitting down means accepting whatever this is.

Instead, I march straight back to the heavy door and grab the handle. I rattle it, but it doesn't budge. It is locked from the outside. Panic flares into pure rage, and I raise my fists, banging and banging against the thick metal.

"Open the door!" I scream, my knuckles throbbing. "Let me out!"

No one opens it. The hallway outside remains completely silent.

Exhausted, I finally stop and turn around. Every single woman in the room is staring at me. They don't look inspired by my defiance; they look at me like I am completely crazy in the head for even trying to fight.

"What is happening here?" I demand, my voice echoing off the cold walls as I look from face to face. "What is this place?"

No one answers me. A girl sitting nearby just shivers and pulls her knees tighter to her chest.

Suddenly, a loud electronic hum cuts through the silence. A speaker mounted high on the wall crackles to life. A man's voice comes through, deep, smooth, and perfectly professional, as if he is opening a high-society charity event.

"Welcome, gentlemen. The evening is about to begin. Please take your seats. The auction is officially open."

My mind spins, the words making absolutely no sense in the context of this locked room.

I turn to the nearest woman, stepping forward to grab her arm. My fingers tighten on her fabric as I try to force her to look at me. "What auction?" I ask, the confusion completely taking over my voice. "What is he talking about?”

The girl doesn't pull away. She just looks up at me, her eyes filled with a deep, crushing pity that makes my blood run cold.

"You really don't know?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "The auction is for us. We are the ones being sold."