Bound by Gun (Book 1) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The city roared with the shattering of car windows, a whirlwind of vibrant neon lights, and shadowy streets that seemed to exist in stark contrast to the serene sanctuary of Catalina’s home.Her heart quickened as she relived the whirlwind of moments that had led her into this haunting reality. The unforgiving leather seats dug into her back, a stark reminder of the unyielding nature of her life. Inside the car, she was surrounded by an oppressive silence, heavy and binding like chains.Catalina clenched her trembling hands, her nails digging into her palms. Despite the turmoil in her heart, she was determined not to let it take control. Her father’s face—filled with fear and despair—haunted her thoughts, and a haunting vision seared itself into her memory. She felt utterly helpless as they took him from her, dragging him away into the unknown.Now, she found herself pulled into the depths of peril, her heart racing with a mix of fear and longing. But why must it be this way? What cou

Every stride Catalina took down the hall brought her closer to Luca Moretti, the reason she was here. Her heart thudded in her chest, mixed with remorse and fear. The young woman who had come to retrieve her led the way in silence, her countenance still gentle but hesitant, as if she was cautious of allowing problems onto herself by speaking too freely.They moved along a sequence of passageways, each more lavish than the next. The splendor felt to Catalina like suffocating. Though the mansion was beautiful, yes, it also felt like a maze meant to make her feel small, helpless, and absolutely out of place.She tried to concentrate on her breathing, to calm her anxieties, but nothing could untangle the fear coiling in her gut.At last, they stopped outside a door less grand than the others. It was painted a beautiful, peaceful blue, and a little wooden sign bearing the name “Luca” was hanging on it, surface etched with care.Turning to Catalina, the young woman gave a comforting smile.

Catalina’s POV. I was making Luca’s bed nice and neat, gently smoothing out the sheets while he was in the bathroom. The room was so still and quiet, which felt really different from all the thoughts racing around in my head. While I folded the blanket and set it neatly on the edge of the bed, I couldn’t help but notice the vanity table nearby. A piece of paper was there, a bit crumpled, with its edges curled from being held tightly. Feeling a bit curious, I picked it up and took a closer look at the drawing. A little boy with dark hair was holding hands with a blonde woman who had a bright, warm smile. A sleek black Maserati stood out in the background. My heart felt heavy. “Is she his mother?” I quietly said to myself. It was clear that she was everything to him. At his age, not having a mother’s love can really hurt, leaving a mark that might take a long time to heal. It makes sense that he held on tightly to every memory he had of her. “That’s my mom,” a soft voice whispe

Catalina’s POVThe sun rises; its soft golden fingers streak along the walls through the blinds. I slowly opened my eyes; Luca’s warmth was replaced by absence. My chest is knitted tight with panic.Where is he?I sat upright as I could feel the chill of the sheets where he was. My heart was drumming against my chest. I flung my legs out onto the cold hardwood floor at the side of the bed, laced up on my toes. My buzzing mind had me moving as I walked on padding feet out of the room.The clinking was what drew me, and I walked into the kitchen.I could feel the relief pouring into me as I looked into the room and saw him sitting at the table. Little hands clasped daintily around a spoon, bright eyes fixed on eating his breakfast. Not for long. My eyes left him to settle on the man by the counter. His back was turned toward me. Broad shoulders and tensed posture made my skin shiver, and even the air around him looked frozen.Matteo.The way he held that steaming coffee mug was tight en

Matteo’s POV The whiskey burned down my throat. A trail of fire danced with the rage simmering within me. The glass in my hand was chilled to perfection, but nothing seemed able to curb the heat rising from within my chest. Smoke curled around me, a mist of frustration and fury. A half-smoked cigarette dangled between my fingers, the glow between my curled, stiff fingers the only warmth in the dimly lit sala. I took another long drag, letting the smoke sear into my lungs before slowly blowing it out. My head was a battle zone, images of deception flashing like gunfire: Victor and his sneer, poisoned wine, and the audacity of men who believed they were more clever than me—better or more worthy of what I’d earned in blood and steel. The business world was a more deadly version of an unloaded pistol with the safety off. Deals sealed with a handshake could explode like grenades. Survival was more than just pulling a trigger; it meant knowing when to pull it, who to aim at, and making