All Chapters of Bound by His Desire: The Mafia King’s Mistress & Secret Heir: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The convoy sliced through the darkened streets, moving like a phantom in the night. The hum of the engine was steady, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside Elena’s chest. She sat in the backseat of Damien’s car, Draco curled against her, his small body radiating warmth. His fever had broken, exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep, but Elena was wide awake.Damien’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his fingers tightening every so often as if he were holding back unspoken words. In the passenger seat, Nico lounged with deceptive ease, his gaze flicking to the side mirror every few minutes, always watching. Behind them, Lorenzo followed in another vehicle, his presence an unspoken challenge in the fragile balance between them all.Elena turned toward the window, watching the city lights blur past, her reflection a ghost in the glass. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing—not just from the attack at the gala, not just from the blood spilled on the marble floors—but from the impossible decisio

The car cut through the night, leaving blood and betrayal in its wake.Elena sat in the backseat, Draco curled against her, his small arms wrapped around her waist as though he could sense her turmoil. His warmth should have soothed her, but it only made the knot in her chest tighten.Damien drove, his grip on the wheel tight enough to crack bone. His knuckles were bloodless, his body a taut coil of barely restrained fury.Nico sat in the passenger seat, silent but alert, his fingers drumming against his thigh in a rare display of agitation.Lorenzo followed in another car, keeping a measured distance.The silence in the vehicle was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and unresolved betrayals.Damien glanced at the rearview mirror again, his gaze flickering between Elena and Draco.She didn’t look at him.She couldn’t.He had saved Draco. She wouldn’t forget that.But trust? That was something else entirely.Draco stirred, his soft, sleepy voice breaking the heavy silence."Mama...

Sunlight filtered through the thick drapes of the safehouse, casting long streaks of gold across the wooden floor. The house sat nestled deep in the countryside, far from the chaos that seemed to follow them like a shadow. For the first time in days, a fragile calm had settled. Draco was curled up on the couch, a navy-blue blanket tucked around his small frame and his worn stuffed wolf clutched tightly in his arms. His breathing was slow and steady—peaceful, at least for now.Elena stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze drifting from her son to the three men hunched over a laptop at the dining table. Damien, Nico, and Lorenzo were replaying footage from the last ambush—every second scrutinized, every frame dissected. The air was heavy with tension.She cleared her throat.They didn’t look up.Elena stepped closer and said, with unmistakable firmness, “We’re running out of everything—diapers, fruit, children’s medicine. Unless one of you knows how to make dinner out of bullets an

The safehouse was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of silence that didn’t bring peace—only tension, stretched taut between every breath.Sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds, scattering pale golden stripes across the floor. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, but even they seemed hesitant to disturb the stillness.Elena moved quietly around the kitchen, the faint clinking of spoons and bowls the only sound. She poured cereal for Draco, who sat on a stool with his legs swinging, half-awake and rubbing at his eyes. His curls were messy, his tiny yawn soft enough to make her chest ache.She smiled faintly, adjusting his bowl and brushing a stray lock from his forehead. “Eat slowly, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s not going anywhere.”Draco grinned, his spoon clattering against the edge of the bowl. “Okay, Mama.”The domestic calm was deceptive. It masked the storm that lingered just beyond the walls—the storm that had a name, a pulse, and a pair of dark eyes that had watc

The golden light of late afternoon stretched long and slow across the safe house yard, painting everything in warm hues. The air carried the crisp scent of freshly cut grass, mingled with faint laughter—the kind that felt rare and fragile among them.Nico had just tossed the ball high into the air when he spotted Damien stepping closer, sleeves rolled up, expression caught somewhere between discomfort and determination.He couldn’t resist the jab. Nico smirked, tossing the ball lazily from hand to hand. “Well, look who’s finally decided to join humanity.”Damien’s brow arched, unimpressed. “Shut up and throw the ball,” he said evenly, voice low but not sharp—more amused than annoyed.Nico grinned wide. “As you wish, boss.” He threw the ball hard, intentionally fast.Damien caught it easily, of course. Years of reflex honed in gunfire and blood made something as simple as a baseball feel almost trivial. Still, the moment he caught it, he froze—not out of fear, but uncertainty.It wa