Pustaka
Cari
Beranda / Mafia / The Silence Of His Vows / Chapter 37

Share

Chapter 37

Penulis: Bunnykoo
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-12-17 00:01:00

Hunger was a quiet violence.

It didn’t scream like the cane, and it didn’t burn like the bleach. It just hollowed me out, scraping the inside of my stomach with a dull, rusted spoon until I felt like a paper lantern—fragile, empty, and ready to catch fire.

I had been in the Alatorre mansion for forty-eight hours.

I had eaten nothing.

I sat on the edge of the stained mattress in the windowless room, my hands pressed against my cramping belly. My shift dress was damp with sweat and gray water from the stairs.

The door opened.

It wasn’t Carmina. It was a man.

A guard.

He was huge, with a neck as thick as a tree stump and a shaved head. He wore the black uniform of the Alatorre soldiers, but his shirt was untucked, and his eyes were glazed with boredom and cruelty.

He held a tray.

The smell of roasted meat hit me instantly. Rosemary. Garlic. Fat.

My mouth watered so painfully my jaw ached.
Lanjutkan membaca buku ini secara gratis
Pindai kode untuk mengunduh Aplikasi
Bab Terkunci
Bab sebelumnya Bab selanjutnya

Bab terbaru

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 50

    The bruise on my cheekbone had bloomed into a violent, purple flower.I saw it in the reflection of the silver platter I was polishing. My face was swollen, the skin tight and shiny, one eye half-shut by the puffiness. I looked like a prizefighter who had lost the match in the first round.I looked like a monster.It was Day Four of captivity. Or maybe Day Five. The timeline was dissolving into a feverish gray soup.I sat at the long mahogany table in the main dining hall. The room was cold, vast, and silent, save for the rhythmic squeak-squeak of my rag against the metal.Aunt Carmina had set the task: Clean the family silver.There were hundreds of pieces. Forks, knives, spoons, ladles, platters. They were spread out before me like a surgical arsenal.My burned hand was useless. The bandage was gray with dirt and stiff with dried pus. The pain had changed. It wasn’t a sharp sting anymore; it was a deep, throbbing heat

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 49

    The chain rattled.It was the first sound of the morning.I woke up on the rug at the foot of Killian’s bed. My body was curled into a tight, defensive knot, my spine pressed against the heavy mahogany post where my ankle was tethered.My neck was stiff. My hip, resting on the hard floor through the thin rug, ached with a dull, bruising throb.I opened my eyes.The room was gray. Dawn.Above me, the bed shifted.Killian sat up.I didn’t move. I didn’t scramble away. I just watched his bare feet hit the floor inches from my face.He stood up, stretching. The muscles in his back rippled under his skin. He didn’t look down at me. He walked to the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.I lay there, staring at the shackle on my ankle. The leather had chafed the skin raw during the night. A thin line of dried blood crusted the edge.I didn’t care.Pain was just noise now. Bac

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 48

    I didn’t know how long I had been hiding under the stairs.Time had lost its shape. It wasn’t measured in hours anymore; it was measured in the throb of my burned hand and the cold seep of the stone floor into my hips.I sat in the dark, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins.I reached up to touch my hair.My hand met air where the weight used to be. My fingers grazed the jagged, bristly ends just below my ears.It was gone. The curtain. The shield. The only thing my mother had left me.I didn’t cry. I had cried in the bathroom. I had cried until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Now, there was nothing left but a dry, hollow ache in the center of my chest.I wasn’t a princess. I wasn’t a bride. I wasn’t even a girl.I was a gray thing. A ghost haunting the crawlspace.Clack. Clack. Clack.Footsteps.I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, making myself small

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 47

    Morning arrived with a boot to the ribs.It wasn’t a kick meant to break a bone. It was a nudge. A reminder of my status.“Up,” Killian ordered.I uncurled from the rug. My body was stiff, my joints locking up from the cold floor and the damp draft that swept under the door.I sat up, pushing hair out of my face.Killian stood over me. He was fully dressed in a charcoal suit, looking like he owned the city. He held a cup of coffee. The steam rose in the air, smelling of heaven.He didn’t offer me any.He watched me brush the hair from my eyes. His gaze narrowed.I had thick, dark hair. Even after Carmina had hacked a chunk off in the linen closet, there was still enough of it to fall forward, to create a curtain, to hide my face when I wanted to disappear.Killian took a sip of his coffee.“You are hiding,” he stated.I froze. I kept my head down, letting the hair shield me.“

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 46

    The numbness was a shield.It was heavy, like a lead vest, and it made moving difficult, but it stopped the arrows.I sat on the mattress in the windowless room, staring at the gray wall. My hands were folded in my lap. My burned hand was re-wrapped in fresh gauze… not by a doctor, but by me, using supplies I had stolen from the bathroom trash when Carmina wasn’t looking.It throbbed. Of course it throbbed. But the pain felt like it was happening to someone else. Like I was watching a movie of a girl in pain, and I was just the audience.Knock.It wasn’t a knock. It was a kick.The door swung open.Marco stood there. He looked tired. He looked at me with a strange expression—not pity, not hate. Just… unease.“Up,” he said. “The Don is eating. He requires service.”I stood up.I didn’t tremble. I didn’t scramble. I rose slowly, unfolding my limbs like a rusted machine.I smoothed the front of my gray dress. I checked my apron.I walked to the door.Marco stepped back, giving me a wide

  • The Silence Of His Vows   Chapter 45

    Third person pov:The study was dark, illuminated only by the blue-white glow of the monitor and the ember of a cigarette burning in the ashtray.Killian Alatorre sat in the high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber whiskey untouched on the desk. His hand rested on the mouse, his index finger hovering over the button.Click.The video rewound.Play.On the screen, Luna’s face filled the frame.It was the moment before she cried. The split second where her composure fractured, where the “spoiled princess” mask dissolved, and something else peered out from beneath the grime and the fake bruise.Killian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.He watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed a sob. He watched the way her pupils dilated, swallowing the hazel iris until her eyes were black pools of terror. He watched the tremor in her bottom lip—a microscopic, involuntary spasm that no amount of acting classes could teach.He froze the frame.He stared at her eyes.He was looking for the

Bab Lainnya

Anda juga akan menyukai

Jelajahi dan baca novel bagus secara gratis
Akses gratis ke berbagai novel bagus di aplikasi GoodNovel. Unduh buku yang kamu suka dan baca di mana saja & kapan saja.
Baca buku gratis di Aplikasi
Pindai kode untuk membaca di Aplikasi
DMCA.com Protection Status