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8. Off With His Head

Penulis: Erika Lana Bell
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-04-30 17:44:23
I stab the last forkful of steak like it insulted my mother. Chew. Swallow. Done.

Across from me, Hale lounges like a king in a bloodstained throne, perfectly content with the way he just shoved food down my throat like I’m some underfed stray. My glare burns holes into his skull, but as usual, the bastard’s unfazed. If hatred were a weapon, he’d already be six feet under.

He picks up his phone, taps once, then murmurs, “We’re ready for dessert.”

My scowl deepens. “I ate,” I snap. “Like you asked. Is there another hoop you need me to jump through, or are we done playing house?”

Hale sets the phone down and finally looks at me.

That unreadable expression of his slides into place like armor. But it’s the kind of look that makes my skin itch—the kind that hides barbed wire under silk.

“Dessert’s coming,” he says casually.

He leans back, arms resting on the chair like he’s holding court, his gaze dragging over me slow enough to be deliberate. Calculating. Like he’s measuring what it’ll tak
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  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   49. Hellbringer Comes Knocking

    The sun casts a blade of light across the courtyard stones, but it’s not enough to chase off the cold bleeding through my spine right about now.Hale holds it between two fingers. That damn letter. The one I folded into a triangle and shoved behind the chipped tile in the bathroom wall.My lungs forget their job. My pulse starts to drum wickedly against my ribs.I force a smile, not willing to let him see how stressed I was in that moment. My voice slithers from my throat, laced with venom dressed as charm. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”Unblinking, he studies me for a long moment. “Hmmm. Is that so?” he murmurs. “Shame. I was hoping for a little honesty between husband and wife.”His words crawl over my skin.Husband and wife.I square my shoulders and force the will to glare up at him. “You want honesty?” I bite out, arms folding across my chest. “I miss my father. Got a problem with that?”There. Let’s see how that lands.The tension in his body pulls tighter, more obvious.

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   48. Check The Daisies

    Cali’s pov. The door shuts behind me with a soft click.I lean against it for a second, chest rising and falling fast, the air trapped inside my throat. My fingers shake.Not from Hale’s hands forcing food down my throat while I had to sit on his lap—painfully aware of something growing beneath my ass.No—it’s because of the letter.The one I tucked under the strap of my bra. The one he has no idea I took.My skin feels cold, of thinking how close he was to discovering the letter. Hale held me in place, hand tight at my waist, other one cutting up food and stuffing it into my mouth. But every time his arm moved, every time his fingers brushed close to the side of my breast, I thought he’d feel it. The edge of paper. Or the crackling noise it made if I—or he—moved too fast.He would’ve undressed me again. Or worse, since the letter was from my father—the man he hates the most—I’m certain the punishment would’ve topped all of the previous ones.But, he didn’t notice it.Thank God, he d

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   47. Pricks Everywhere

    I shut the office door behind me and press the latch until it clicks.One second.Two.Silence.I let the tension bleed off my shoulders. My jaw’s still tight. My pulse hasn’t dropped.I cross the room and sit, slowly, like I’m not two seconds from unzipping my pants and jerking off to the memory of a woman trying to claw my face off.The slap still tingles across my cheek. Not painful—just present. The kind of heat that lingers long after the contact’s gone. I can still feel the precise sting of her fingers across my skin. That sharp little sound. That moment her lips parted with rage and her whole body snapped forward to hit me like it’s meant to prove a point—or to mean something.It did.Fuck, it did.I lean back in my chair, adjusting my pants with a grimace. My cock’s still half-hard. I press the heel of my palm over it, annoyed. It doesn’t do much but annoy me right now. It throbs with memory—her flushed face, eyes wide and feral, lips parted in disbelief right before she storm

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   46. Unravel

    Hale’s pov.“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” I repeat, more sternly this time.Cali’s grip tightens around whatever she’s holding, and she lifts her chin to glare at me like I have the audacity to interrupt her.I cross the room in two long strides and rip the phone from her hands before she can shove it down her waistband or behind her back like a damn teenager caught red-handed. She doesn’t resist, but her eyes stay locked on the device like it’s oxygen and I just yanked the tank.“Answer the question,” I growl, low and even. “What the hell are you doing?”She leans back on her hands like she’s lounging, like this is some casual misunderstanding instead of an outright violation. Her mouth lifts in that arrogant half-smile I want to slap off her face and kiss at the same time.“I figured,” she speaks slowly, “since I’m the woman of the house now, I’m allowed to go through the mail.”I arch a brow. “Cute. Try again.”Her smile widens, but there’s tension under it. T

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   45. The Package

    Hale is nowhere to be seen when I wake.The light outside the window says it’s late morning, but no one’s come pounding on my door or screaming at me to get dressed, eat, train, or pretend to be grateful. Strange. I don’t trust silence in this house—because it’s never just silence. It’s always the start of something.What that may be—I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.I drag myself out of bed, pull on a black hoodie over my tank top, and shove my legs into a pair of leggings. I don’t bother brushing my hair. I’m too tired to play Mrs. Holt today. If Hale has a problem with that, then he can bite my ass.I’m barely dressed when a knock comes. To my surprise, the person on the other side goes quite. They don’t come in, either.Hesitant, I call out, “Yes?”“May I come in, Mrs. Holt?” It’s the butler.Well, if that isn’t a first. “Yes, come in.”A moment later, the door clicks open and the butler walks in like he’s an aspiring ghost impersonator. Quiet—with his head turned down.“Mrs. H

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   44. Pain Is Not Always Gain

    The humiliation hasn’t faded.It clings to my skin like sweat, soaked deep into every pore, heavy and suffocating. No matter how fast I move, how many doors I slam, or how hard I dig my nails into my palms just to ground myself—every effort for relief is fruitless.The worst part—it wasn’t hale’s invasion to my body that haunts me the most.It’s the sound I made.That one broken moan I couldn’t swallow in time. That sharp, needy gasp that cut through the air as his fingers curled inside me and my whole body responded like it had been waiting for it.Fifteen minutes. That’s all he gave me to recover.Fifteen damned minutes to get dressed, get out, and pretend like he hadn’t pushed me to the edge of orgasm on his fucking desk and then walked away without looking back.I don’t shower. I don’t wipe off the heat that still clings to my thighs. I don’t even try to fix my expression. Let them see it—let them see how fucking wrecked I am and assume it’s from the bruises and not the shame.By

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   43. Bite Of Fury

    I see it in the clench of his jaw, in the shift of his weight—in the damned way his gaze drops lower.It’s purely predatory.“Don’t you even fucking think about it,” I bite out, my breathing shallow.His lips curl into something dark. It isn’t a smile. More like a warning of what’s to come.Oh, for fuck sake.And then he moves.I try to scramble back, instinct kicking in hard and fast, but I don’t get far. He’s faster. Stronger. Always one step ahead, and I hate him for it. He grabs me like I’m nothing, spins me, and throws me forward across the desk. My chest slams into the cold wood. My cheek follows a heartbeat later.I thrash, but it’s useless. His arm locks around my waist, anchoring me. His other hand pins my wrists against the surface, forcing my body to stretch out, naked and exposed.“Son of a—” My voice breaks on a hiss as he tightens his grip.He laughs—low, amused, cruel. “This is what happens when you try to sneak weapons.”“This is abuse,” I snap, voice venomous, face ho

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   42. The Devil Never Rests

    There’s no such thing as a day off in Hell.Especially not when the devil is being quiet.Which is why I know—deep in my gut, in my bones, in the electric tension humming under my skin—that Hale didn’t give me the afternoon off to be generous. He didn’t do it to be kind, or merciful, or anything that could be misconstrued as soft. That man doesn’t move unless there’s a plan behind it. Everything he does, every step, every glance, every breath—it’s all designed to unmake someone.Tonight, that someone is me.The knock comes after dusk.I already have my hoodie zipped and my sweats tied tight at the hips. I don’t ask questions when the guard says “Mr. Holt is requesting you.” I just follow, silent and try my best not to think about the encounter I had with the maid earlier—whose name I’ve come to learn, is Melda.I push open the door and find him already seated at his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, ink visible beneath the low lamplight. His head lifts slowly, gaze dragging across

  • Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King   41. A Weight

    I pick up the weapon, turn, slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the dagger as I meet the eyes of the older maid. It’s the older maid—the one I decided I liked, purely because of her personality. The one who insisted I keep her boss on his toes.She walks farther into the room, a basket of cleaning supplies tucked under one arm, and she glances at me with that same half-annoyed, half-curious expression she seems to carry each time she sees me.“He sees everything around here,” she states, not stopping as she moves to the shelves and begins dusting the handles of pistols like she’s straightening teacups. “Even when you think he’s not watching.”I let go of the knife.“I figured,” I mutter, stepping back, eyes scanning the ceiling again. “Hale’s too careful to leave this place wide open without a reason.”She doesn’t comment. Instead, she hums and keeps cleaning.The silence stretches long enough to feel almost as if she has forgotten my existence.Then she says it—quiet, plain, like

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