Semua Bab Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Late afternoon sunlight stretches across the floor in long golden streaks, turning the edges of the room soft and sleepy. I sit cross-legged on the bed, a half-folded fashion magazine resting in my lap, its pages slightly curled from being too well-thumbed. The article in front of me is something ridiculous—How to Keep Your Man’s Attention: Nine Tips From Women Who Know—and the smug smiles of the models in glittering gowns make me want to roll my eyes.Still, flipping through it keeps my hands busy, keeps my thoughts from circling back to Belle, to Daisy, to the empty silence left in Hale’s absence.I haven’t heard from him again since the call. He said he’d look into it. He said he’d let me know. But time moves differently when you’re waiting for news that might break you. Every second without a call feels like a warning bell going off in my skull.I stare at a page without reading it, letting the familiar scent of Hale’s cologne—still clinging to the sheets—ground me. For now.Then

Cali’s pov. I don’t expect him to believe me.Not right away. Not after everything.But I say it anyway.“It was Daisy.”Hale doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.He just stands there like he’s rooted to the damn floor, eyes locked on mine, body so still it feels like the room itself is holding its breath.A silence blooms between us—tense, heavy, unblinking.“She was the one who planted the recorder,” I go on, each word more deliberate than the last. “She’s been here for weeks. Smiling. Cleaning. Bringing me tea. Asking questions without making it obvious she was asking. She made herself seem harmless. Helpful, even.”Still, he doesn’t speak.“She told me she was working on behalf of my father,” I say. “Said she was here to keep me safe. That she was a friend. But she wasn’t.”Hale’s eyes narrow, and something flickers across his face. Not surprise. Not yet. But something colder. Like pieces falling into place.“You’re sure,” he says quietly.I nod once.“The letter Burke left in my bedroom

Hale’s pov.She looks up at me, her body trembling in my arms, and whispers, “How are you going to save her?”I brush a damp strand of hair from her face and meet her eyes. Not the fragile kind of eye contact people give when they’re trying to be gentle. No. I give her the kind of stare that comes with blood and certainty.“The same way I’ve taken down every empire that thought they could outplay me,” I murmur. “From the inside.”Her breath catches.I release her gently and step back. Her shirt’s wrinkled. Her cheeks are tear-streaked. Her nails have half-moon marks from clutching her fists too tight. And yet, there’s fire in her posture again. She’s ready to hear it. She just doesn’t know how much it’ll cost her.“Come,” I say, nodding toward the war room door. “You’ll want to see this.”She follows.I pull up a projection screen on the wall, lighting up the space with a blueprint of a luxury private estate just outside the city. The coordinates are tagged. Routes marked in red. The

“I’m falling in love with you,” he says.It lands softer than I expect. No grand reveal. No dramatic pause. Just six quiet words spoken like they cost him something. Like the truth behind them aches.And I feel it like a punch to the chest.Hale Holt doesn’t do vulnerability. He commands. He takes. He dominates. But this—this is something else entirely. This is raw. Human.My breath catches.Not because I’m shocked—some part of me has felt it creeping in for days. In the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. In the way he touches me when there’s no one to perform for. In the way he kissed me after I screamed about Belle, like he was trying to hold me together.He waits.He doesn’t push.And that’s what undoes me.I don’t say it to appease him. I don’t say it because it’s expected.I say it because it’s true.“I think I’m falling for you too.”The second the words leave me, something in his expression shifts—just slightly. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders ease. T

The dining room is a scene ripped from some decadent fantasy—gilded ceilings, candlelight trapped in cut crystal, the air thick with spice and silk and quiet, predatory smiles. Everything is beautiful in that heavy, dangerous way that makes your skin itch. The kind of beauty that means something awful is coming. I sit beside Hale—Mateo—my fingers resting lightly on the curve of his wrist, back straight, chin lifted, like I belong in this circle of sharks. Every person at this table is powerful. Some I recognize from whispered stories. Others are newer, fresher blood, still trying to prove they deserve a seat here. They speak in soft tones, about profits and markets and names I don’t want to hear spoken aloud. Everyone here knows what’s happening tomorrow. And no one cares. Not about the girls. Not about what it costs. Only what they’ll win.I keep my expression bored, my posture fluid, just as Sable drilled into me. Isadora Santiago doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t react. She listens. Watc