《OATHBOUND: Married To The Don Of The North》全部章節：第 1 章 - 第 10 章

{CARA'S POV} * * “Is Papà waiting for me?” I ask, my grip tightening on the door handle, and my pulse rising. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say. But I need to. 'Cara, you’re my only child now. By my side, you’ll hold the future of this family in your hands.' I can almost see it; my life shifting, closing in, and heavy duty falling heavily on me. We aren’t just an average family. We’re La Rosas. Power and blood - it’s what we’re built on. I’ve known it since before I could even talk. Trust no one. Don’t back down. Never apologize. But tonight, something’s changed. Agata, my sister, is gone, taken by this war, and now the Gambinos, Da Costas, De Lucas… they’re out for blood. They’ll come for me next to destroy the family whole. “Miss Cara, your father has been waiting,” Papà’s assistant says, opening the door to his study. The thick scent of cigars and leather hits me, comforting, familiar, but tonight, the air feels different… tense, sharp. “Daughter.” His

{EDMONDO'S POV} [Continuation] * * The screams are still there, echoing in my head. They didn’t stop in the car, and they’re not stopping now. Images of the mountains, broken bodies, and chaos cling to me like smoke I can’t shake off. As we get closer to the estate, I see a figure. Similar to my father's. Standing there like some marble statue carved from pure disdain and disappointment. I step out of the car, my body heavy and my mind running on fumes. But his gaze hits me before his voice does. “Edmondo,” he says, low but sharp. “What are you doing? What have you done?” I say nothing. My jaw tightens as I brush past him. “Non pensare di potertene andare!” (Don’t think you can just leave!) His hand clips the back of my head... not hard, not enough to hurt. But just about enough to spark the fury simmering beneath my skin. I stop. Turn slowly. “You know,” I say, my voice icy and deliberate, “potrei farti finire in galera per questo.” (I could get you sent to jail

{EDMONDO'S POV} * * Smoke curls around me, thick and bitter, as I take another drag from my pipe. The faint flicker of torchlight dances across the cold stone walls, casting shadows that writhe like restless spirits. The air is damp here, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of decay. It clings to my skin, to my thoughts, to every breath I take. She’s here, chained against the far wall. Cara La Rosa. Her name alone ignites the fire in my chest, a rage I’ve carried for far too long. I hate the Southern Italy Mafias. I hate their disunity and weakness. Just like the La Rosa; they couldn't take the fight head on, so they decided to do their deeds in the shadows. She doesn’t belong here.. not in my world, not in my plans, not in my head. And yet, here she is. I lean against the slaughter table, the weight of the room pressing down on me like a stone. The pipe burns hot between my fingers, the acrid smoke doing nothing to calm the storm inside. I hate the way sh

{EDMONDO'S POV} [Flashback To Months Back.] * * I walk into the church, the heavy door creaking behind me. The air’s thick with incense, mixing with the cold stone that feels like it’s closing in around me. At the last pew, my mother sits, eyes closed and fingers sliding over her prayer beads. The soft clicks of the beads were the only sound in the stillness. For a second, I almost feel like I could forget everything; the mess, the blood, the shit show I’ve made of my life. But I step closer and know it’s still there, weighing me down. I linger for a moment, watching her, then step into the aisle. My boots make quiet thuds against the stone floor. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even bother to open her eyes. Her voice, soft but fucking firm, cuts through the silence like a knife. “Take away every filth from you. You’re in the house of the Lord.” I exhale, running a hand through my hair. I’m not here for peace. Not here for redemption. I pull my gun from my coat. “The gun’s not t

{EDMONDO'S POV}**The heavy door creaks open, and the weight of silence falls over the room like a guillotine. I step inside, my boots hitting the concrete with a deliberate rhythm. Each step echoes off the cold, unwelcoming walls.My arctic is supposed to be sacred; a fortress of solitude where silence reigns and whispers dare not tread. But now, it’s polluted. The air feels different, tainted by… these people.I don’t ask what’s going on. That would imply I care. Instead, I pause in the doorway, my gaze sweeping over the room. “Well,” I say, my tone light, almost amused. “I didn’t know we were hosting a circus tonight. Where’s the clown?” My lips curl into a thin smile, one that holds no warmth, only ice.Every eye turns to me, fear flickering in some, defiance in others. Good. I prefer a mix… it keeps things interesting.Behind me, my shadows file in. First is my consigliere (advisor), his face a perfect mask of neutrality. He’s clever, but I’ve never trusted him. Trust is a lu