All Chapters of THE DEVIL’S CHOKEHOLD : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ROBI swung the ax over my head and brought it down hard. The sharp crack of splitting wood ripped through the crisp night air, echoing off the trees surrounding my cabin. My arms burned, muscles flexing as I grabbed another log, set it on the stump, and swung again. Sweat slicked my skin despite the cool bite of the wind, my shirt long discarded in the dirt. Out here, it was just me, the ax, and the ghosts that never fucking left me alone.I needed the distraction. The rhythmic violence of it—the bite of the blade through solid wood—kept my mind from spiraling where it always went.To her.Bianca.Her name was a curse in my head, a brand under my skin. That damn kiss from weeks ago still lingered, hot and maddening, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. I hated her. Hated how she made me feel—wild, unmoored, like I was one wrong move from losing control. Hated that even now, I wanted to storm inside, fire up my laptop, and check the cameras. See if she was still at her office, still breat

BIANCA POV I ran. The ground bucked beneath my feet, the cold gnawing through my torn dress. I didn’t stop. The air reeked of blood and fire, the sound of gunshots and men dying swallowed by the rustling trees. Behind me, Rob was close—too close. His presence burned, suffocating, like the heat of the flames at our backs. Arya and Leo had stayed behind, cleaning up the mess. Just the two of them—unstoppable, tearing through trained killers like they were made of paper. I’d never seen two people so in sync, so perfectly aligned. It was deadly and terrifying. But more than that, it was love. Love. It made something twist in my chest, aching. I didn’t want that. I never did. I’d spent years building a life away from all this—away from the Mafia, the blood, the power struggles. But the irony was, every day, I defended criminals like my brother and Rob. It was hypocrisy at its finest. A branch snapped beneath my foot, pulling me back to the present. We were still being hunted. S

BIANCAI hated him.Every time I thought I had reached the peak of my hatred for Roberto Grimani, he found a way to push me further. Like some sick game he played just to see how much I could take before I broke.He was always taking.Taking my time. Taking my patience. Taking the last shred of peace I had in my goddamn life.And last night, he had taken something else.My choice.Two men. Two dates. Two heads cracked against the pavement before I even finished my drink.And for what?Because he decided they weren’t good enough for me? He thought they were too dangerous?The irony.The real danger wasn’t them.It was him.And the proof of it was all over me.Blood on my torn blouse. Dirt caked into the cuts on my palms. My wrists sore from where I had been bound.I could have died.Because of him.Because of the chaos that followed him like a shadow, wrapping around everything he touched.I should have been terrified. I should have been grateful to be alive. But all I felt was rage.I

ROBERTO I watched her turn away, my eyes dragging over her body despite myself. The dress clung to her, molding to every curve, and without her heels, she looked smaller. Softer. Her bare feet rested beside the bar where she had left her shoes, her legs crossed as she focused on her laptop, brows furrowed in deep concentration.Even though I hated her, I had to admit she had the kind of face and body that could turn a monk into a whoremonger.And her eyes… those gray eyes.Phew.I exhaled sharply, shaking the thought from my head.My mind drifted to my earlier conversation with Leonardo.“I trust you with her, Rob. No one else.”I clenched my jaw.I should have walked away right then, should have reminded him that trusting me was a mistake. Instead, I said nothing. And now, here I was, meant to protect her, to keep her safe, while I stood in the middle of her living room, fucking ogling her.Pathetic.I dragged a hand down my face and turned back to the window. I needed a cigarette.

BIANCAI paced behind my desk, the phone hot against my ear, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose. My temples throbbed—an ache born from caffeine, deadlines, and the relentless incompetence of people who insisted on calling me.The call ended, and before I could even lower the phone, it rang again.I bit down a groan and answered. “Yes, Mr. Hughes.”His voice was already blustering through, all righteousness and flustered ego. “I just got off the phone with Collins, and he says you advised him to—”“I’m aware,” I cut in, trying to keep my tone even. My heels clicked softly against the hardwood as I turned. “If your associate already filed the motion, then why are you—”“I’m calling because it wasn’t properly reviewed. You know what kind of mess that’ll be in court.”I closed my eyes, exhaling through my teeth. “No, I’m not saying it’s your fault. I’m saying we need to fix it before the judge catches it and sanctions your firm.”The silence on the other end was tight and heavy. Go