Page 1 of Bound in Obsession
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. Butmen 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.
