Semua Bab OATHBOUND: Married To The Don Of The North: Bab 11 - Bab 20

{EDMONDO'S POV}**“Dio bono! LChësta fameja i à tütc i oci blö (Good God! Everyone in this damn family has blue eyes),” is what anyone would say walking into this room.It’s like some cursed family heirloom we’re all forced to carry. My mother, my sisters Lucia and Francesca, my brothers Giordano, Giorgio, and Enzo; all with those cold, unforgiving blue eyes.Sadly for me, faces blur together. Features slip away like smoke. Ever since the accident six years ago, my vision’s been a cruel trickster. Details disappear. Identities smear into nothing. It's a disability; I can't recognise faces.So I’ve learned to adapt. I don’t recognize people by their faces anymore; I recognize them by the way they move, the habits they don’t even realize they have.Lucia’s to my left, gripping her glass so tight it might shatter. She always holds onto things like that when she’s on the fucking edge. Like if she can choke the tension out of her life which is a foolish lie.Next to her, Francesca taps h

{Edmondo’s POV}**"Ensure nothing leaves that corridor," I say, my tone deliberate and sharp. "No rumors, no whispers, no shadows. If anyone so much as breathes differently—""I'll handle it," Giovanni interrupts, nodding once.For a moment, I let the silence stretch. I study him; faint lines etched around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. Loyalty is one thing; trust is another."Good," I finally say, leaning back in my chair. "Go. I expect updates by tomorrow on the La Rosas."He hesitates, fingers brushing the edge of the desk. "Are you sure about…" He trails off, leaving the question incomplete, dangling in the thick air.I narrow my eyes. "If you have doubts, Giovanni, fucking speak now."He clears his throat, straightening. "No doubts. Just confirming we're clear on the objectives.""Crystal clear," I reply, the coldness in my voice ending the conversation.With a final nod, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence follows.I lean back in my chair, my la

{Edmondo's POV}**I toss her chin away like she’s nothing more than a plague, refusing to let her see the conflict brewing inside me. Her defiance is amusing, even enticing, but it’s also dangerous. I have to keep her in line, keep her beneath me, or risk her discovering truths that could ruin everything.“Prepare yourself,” I say sharply. My voice is cold, calculated. “Wash yourself. If you need assistance, let Madame Margarita know. She’s just an intercom away.”I point to the sleek device on the wall, ensuring she sees it before I add, “I need you clean and sparkly before tonight. That’s why I haven’t shot you yet. Or,” I pause deliberately, letting my gaze linger on her trembling lips, “fucked your brains out, just yet.”The way her breath catches makes something inside me twist. Satisfaction or shame, I’m not sure. I don’t wait for her response. I can’t.I turn on my heel and leave, slamming the door behind me.The hallway stretches before me, dim and endless. My steps echo ag

{EDMONDO'S POV}**I don’t recognize faces. Never have for the past six years, never will. It’s a curse, really. It makes things harder. People blend together for me. But you know what? I don’t need faces to read a room. I’ve got other ways. I can smell the tension in the air, feel it in the way people move. I hear things that most don’t even notice — the click of a shoe against the floor, the shift of someone’s weight, the breath they take before they speak. I can see things that aren’t obvious, catch the flicker in their eyes, the slight shift in their posture, the way they hold themselves. It’s all I’ve got, but it works. I trained myself to for six fucking terrible years and it's become a weapon.And when we walk into Bruce’s place, I can feel it immediately. It smells of smoke, too much cologne, and something sour — like desperation. The kind of scent a man gets when he’s drowning in his own lies. I don’t need to see Bruce’s face to know who he is. The air is thick with his

{EDMONDO'S POV}**I’m not sure when it happens. One minute, I'm staring at her, watching her flinch. The other, we’re in the back of some van, the world spinning around us in ways I don’t even want to process.The gunshot's still echoing in my ears. The blood.. it's everywhere. And Cara's staring at me, like I'm some kind of beast. Like she doesn’t even know who I am anymore. Good. I don’t want her to know me.I slam the van door shut behind her. My fist is still clenched, the rage pulling at my insides like I'm about to rip through the fucking walls. The van jerks forward. I don’t even care where we’re going. But, I'm sure Luigi and Giovanni are at the front.I light the second cigarette. The flame flickers, and for a second, the dim glow is the only thing between us, between my storm and the world.Cara says something. Her voice, soft. Questioning. Weak.“Don’t you think that’s going to start a fire?” she asks. Her voice is cracking, like she’s not sure whether she should be ma