Semua Bab Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Bab 11 - Bab 20

His breath grazes the nape of my neck like a brand.I can feel the air shifting around me, the sound of his gloves tightening at the wrists, the weighted pause in the room—like the walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting to watch me fall apart. My pulse thrashes in my throat. Every inch of my skin feels like it’s crawling. I can barely hear past the rush of blood in my ears.He moves behind me, slowly. Deliberately.“I’m going to teach you what punishment feels like,” he murmurs, low and rough, like gravel scraping across bare nerves. “Not with pain. Not with bruises. That’d be too easy for someone like you. No. You don’t learn that way.”I bite down hard, fists clenching in the cuffs behind me as I brace myself against the padded bench. My thighs are trembling, rage and dread twisting together into something molten.“You learn through denial,” he continues, circling behind me like a predator. “Through control. Through the parts of you that beg while your mouth says otherwi

Hale’s pov.The ballroom is soaked in old money, a mausoleum dressed in crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes, where everyone smiles just wide enough to flash the viciousness hidden beneath their teeth. The event is dressed as a memorial auction, a final bow to one of the city’s most notorious mobsters, but everyone in this room knows it’s just another feeding frenzy—power disguised as grief, masks pulled tight over hungry eyes.I don’t care about the pretense.I’m here for one thing only.And it’s hanging on the far wall like a joke told in poor taste: a duck, small and ugly, staring off to nowhere, painted in oil so cheap it looks like the artist ran out of talent halfway through and just gave up. It’s ridiculous. Absurd. And worth exactly ten million dollars. Not for the canvas. Not for the paint. But for what’s hidden behind it’s worth much, much more.Cali walks beside me, silent, but there’s nothing quiet about her presence. She radiates heat and fury, wrapped in a dress that

The hallway we walk down is colder than the rest of the house. Less polished. The walls are rough, unfinished concrete, and the hum of the lights overhead buzzes like it knows I’m walking into another trap.Hale doesn’t speak, and I don’t ask where we’re going. I already know whatever’s waiting is meant to break me in some new, inventive way.We stop in front of a black steel door, scratched and dented like it’s seen a few fists and maybe more. He keys in a code, then pushes it open.The room we step into is… strange. Cramped. Too clean in some places, too neglected in others. There’s a thick velvet curtain half-drawn over a boarded-up window. The floor is a mismatched mess of cracked black-and-white tiles, and the walls are a deep maroon, like dried blood. A low round table sits at the center of the room, with two chairs placed opposite each other. A single bulb hangs overhead, its yellow glow flickering just enough to make me uneasy.In the far corner, there’s a bar—sleek, almost ou

I’m down to just a bra. My arms cross instinctively over my bare stomach, but my legs stay tightly twisted, hiding what’s left of my modesty. The alcohol has dulled the edges of my anger, but it’s sharpened everything else—my nerves, the heat in my skin, the pulse in my core.And Hale. God, Hale.He’s so close I can smell him—whiskey, sin, and a promise of ruin I should know better than to crave. His gaze dips again, brazenly, to the swell of my breasts pushed up by black lace. His smirk curves like he’s already won.“Deal’s a deal,” he says lowly, that gravel-rough voice scraping across my skin.I hate how my nipples respond, pebbling against the sheer fabric. Hate how my thighs clench under the table. Hate how I want him to look.“Fuck you,” I mutter, but my voice is too breathy, too unconvincing.“Maybe later,” he says, leaning back in his seat with infuriating ease. “But first…”I huff, cheeks burning as I reach back and unclasp the bra, peeling it from my skin like it weighs ten

Cali’s pov.A knock rattles against my door.I stay still in bed, one arm draped over my forehead, the other curled tightly around my waist. The silence after the knock stretches, thick with meaning. They know I’m awake. They always do. But I don’t answer, because low and behold—the door opens anyway.Footsteps enter, tapping slowly and quietly against the marble floor. There’s a pause, then movement toward the center of the room. I push myself up, spine aching from the tension I’ve carried through the night.The man standing by the table is the butler I attacked days ago, under the impression he was there to harm me.The same one who flinched when I breathed too close. He hasn’t forgotten. His body gives him away. His shoulders are high, neck tight, hands trembling slightly as he lowers the silver breakfast tray onto the glass table at the foot of the bed.His eyes flick toward me once. Disgust. Fear. Caution. All of it flashes across his face before he quickly looks away. The bruise