Semua Bab Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The air stinks of blood and gunpowder—sharp, metallic, suffocating. My left shoulder’s soaked in it, hot and sticky, where it seeps through my shirt. Some of it’s mine. The rest… I don’t have time to care. My head’s still ringing from when one of those Holt bastards slammed it into a metal shelf, and my arm is on fire. The bullet skimmed me good. But I’m still standing.Still breathing.Still moving.The box digs into my ribs with every step, each breath punching against the bruises blooming beneath my skin. The safe’s tucked under my other arm, heavier than it should be for its small size, slick with something warm and suspiciously chunky that I refuse to look at.We hit the stairwell hard—boots pounding down rusted metal steps like a military drum. Each one shudders up through my bones. Behind us, doors slam open. Voices roar. Footsteps hammer closer.“Down the alley,” Ryker barks, shoving the door with his shoulder, gun leveled. “Go!”We burst into the night like hellhounds on the r

The walls don’t echo like your typical empty space. But the silence suffocates, pressing in tight like a second skin stretched over raw nerves. It fills every inch of this windowless box until the air tastes sterile and still, like a hospital after the last heartbeat stops.I’ve memorized the room. Every inch of it. Counted the cracks in the tiles beneath my boots, the scratches on the metal edge of the bedframe, and the slow, uneven drip of the sink that refuses to fully shut off. I’ve cataloged every breath I’ve taken since he left—every shallow inhale, every slow exhale I use to keep from screaming.Sleep doesn’t come again. Not in this place. Not with adrenaline still humming through my veins like electricity wired wrong. Not with betrayal curled up inside my chest like barbed wire.And rage. Always rage.I’m not used to being caged. Not like this. Not by someone whose voice makes my skin crawl and my blood simmer. Someone who makes my spine itch to snap just to spite him.But I wo

Everything passes like a blur.It’s what happens when survival mode kicks in.I answer every question tossed my way with vague nods, tight smiles, clipped words that barely scrape the surface of polite conversation. I let Hale lead me through like a well-trained pet, smiling when I have to, laughing when I’m expected.All while my brain fractures behind my eyes, every beat of my heart a warning.I don’t think about Belle.Because if I do, the panic claws its way up my throat until it feels like I’m choking on it.I don’t think about my brothers or my father either, because when I do, emotions flicker—hurt, rage, betrayal—all fusing into something sharp enough to cut me from the inside out.I focus on breathing.On staying upright.On doing whatever the hell it takes to survive this nightmare night without unraveling.Before I know it, it’s over.The guests start to file out, each handshake and feigned smile leaving a little more of my soul scraped raw. The grand hall empties, the heav

I dress like I’m heading to a funeral.Not his. Mine.Black slacks—tailored, high-waisted, tight at the hips. A lacy black top that clings to my skin in all the places Hale’s eyes linger too long. Sheer sleeves. A neckline I left unbuttoned out of spite. My heels are tall enough to snap a man’s confidence. Good. Let them echo. Let them draw blood.I leave my hair down—long, dark waves tumbling past my shoulders, heavy and loose and untamed. I don’t touch makeup. Don’t conceal the faint purpling under my eyes or the rage carved into the set of my mouth.He doesn’t deserve a mask. He doesn’t deserve anything.By the time noon rolls around, I’ve already paced half a trench into the floor. No one’s come to collect me. No tray. No threats. Just silence and the slow, boiling simmer of my own thoughts.Then—Knock. Twist. Open.She enters like a storm.The maid. The sharp-tongued one from earlier, with zero patience for my bullshit.“Well, thank God,” she mutters, eyeing me. “You’re dressed

I strip out of my blouse with trembling fingers and toss it across the back of the chair like it personally betrayed me.It’s been hours since I sliced Hale’s face and got slammed to the floor like a rag doll in a horror movie. Since I felt his mouth on me—his tongue, his teeth—since my body betrayed me in the most disgusting, humiliating, sinfully hot way.And I still can’t stop shaking.Not from fear.From fury.From the fact that I liked it. No—my body liked it. I hated it.My brain screams, He’s your captor, you idiot. He’s the one with the leash. The one who bled my family dry. The one whose breath made my skin crawl until it didn’t.And now he has me dressing in the sluttiest “athletic wear” known to mankind like it’s some sick joke.I glance at the mirror and scowl.The black sports bra is criminal. It’s cut low enough to make my cleavage look like a damn mountain range, and tight enough to lift what doesn’t even need lifting. The leggings are second-skin tight and slick like o