Semua Bab Dark Possession: Bound To The Mafia Don: Bab 371 - Bab 380

Michael’s POV The air shifted the moment the heavy double doors closed behind us. In the smaller sitting room Ashley had dragged me into, silence pressed against my ears, broken only by the sound of her shallow, angry breaths. She turned to face me, her eyes flashing like a blade in the dim light. “Michael.” My name tore out of her lips, urgent, like it had been waiting all night. “Tell me you’re not actually considering this madness. Tell me you’re not going to let that man—” Her voice faltered. She swallowed, pressing a fist against her chest as though the weight of her fury and despair was physically crushing her. “—that man trap you like this.” I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. Ashley took my silence as refusal. “Michael, say something!” she snapped, pacing across the carpet. “You can’t just let him announce to a room that you’ll be his bride without fighting back. Do you have any idea what kind of cage this is? Do you understand who Fernando is?” I looked at her. My

Michael’s POV The morning light spilled faintly through the curtains and I sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the open suitcase in front of me. My clothes were folded neatly inside, yet the weight of each shirt and pair of jeans pressed heavier on my chest than stone. Today was the day I was supposed to move into Fernando’s mansion. Ashley leaned against the dresser, her arms folded, watching me with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t gone to work today, not because she wanted to rest, but because she refused to leave me alone as I prepared for what she called “the biggest mistake” of my life. “Michael,” she said finally, her voice soft but edged with steel, “you still have time to back out of this. You don’t have to move in before the wedding. It’s reckless.” I let out a long sigh, running my hand through my hair. “I don’t want to wait, Ash. The sooner I’m there, the sooner I can start shielding Henry from… him.” Her brow furrowed, and she pushed herself off the dresser. She

Michael’s POV It felt like the air itself was thick with danger and metallic with the scent of guns. My pulse beat against my throat so hard I could barely swallow. Ashley gasped beside me, her body stiffening, but she didn’t run. She didn’t even flinch when three guns swung toward her. She simply pressed herself closer to me, her fingers curling into my sleeve as though bracing herself against a tidal wave. Archer was all fire and ice. His hair was slightly scattered, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his jaw tight with fury. His chest rose and fell in sharp heaves, and I could see the tendons in his neck straining with the effort to keep his voice from breaking into a roar. He looked past me at first. His eyes landed on the bags by the wall, the neatly stacked luggage that betrayed me better than any confession could have. His lips curled. “You filthy betrayer.” The words came out low, guttural, and venomous. “So it’s true. You’re moving into his house, into his bed. You—” He ste

Archer’s POV I had Michael right where I wanted him, and I wasn’t about to let him get close enough to change that. The sharp crack of my gunshot still echoed off the apartment walls, leaving behind the sharp smell of gunpowder that clung to the air. Michael froze where he stood, his chest rising and falling, his hands half-lifted in that practiced way he always did whenever he wanted to look less threatening. But I knew better. I had learned my lesson the hard way—he was fast, sharper than he looked, and dangerous when underestimated. I still remembered the humiliation of the last time I tried this—when Michael had turned the tables on one of my men, stripping the gun right out of his hand as though he were taking candy from a child. Never again. My pulse hammered at the memory, and the sound of my warning shot was as much for me as it was for him. “Stay the hell where you are,” I snapped, my gun pointed straight at his chest. My voice came out harsher than I had intended,

Michael’s POV I could still feel Ashley trembling against me. The both of us were pressed into the hardwood floor of her apartment, the coldness of it biting through my clothes, the smell of anger and fear clinging to the air. My arms wrapped tightly around her, not only to comfort her, but to remind myself that I was still alive—that, somehow, despite the cold metallic crowd of guns aimed at us, I was breathing. Archer’s shadow loomed above us. I could hear his breath, ragged, uneven, the kind of breath that belonged to a man who was seconds away from unraveling. His gun didn’t waver, not really—he had too much discipline for that—but his eyes were a storm. Behind him, his men stood in a semi-circle, weapons drawn, their focus split between us and the muffled bursts of gunfire echoing through the building’s hallway. Every shot was a reminder that this was no bluff—Fernando’s men were here, fighting, clawing their way toward us. The war outside only proved what Archer already