Lahat ng Kabanata ng Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

The door slams against the wall behind me with a violent crack, loud enough to rattle the paintings.Every step I take toward Hale’s office desk is powered by fury, by the storm that has been howling inside my chest since the moment I opened this goddamn box and found the severed hand wrapped in silk and stinking of violence. The box is clutched in both hands, my knuckles gone white with how tight I’m holding it. My fingers ache, nails biting into the wood as I close the distance.I’m halfway to him when the sight of him hits me like a sledgehammer to the lungs.Hale Holt is a goddamn disaster.He’s reclined in his oversized leather chair like he owns every inch of this room, this city, this planet. Bourbon glints in the half-empty crystal glass in his right hand, the bottle beside him drained past the halfway mark. The collar of his shirt is gone—no, not just the collar. The entire thing is hanging open, sleeves rolled to the elbows, buttons undone and forgotten. His bare chest is on

The silence between us is a taut, fraying wire about to snap when Hale’s phone rings.A sharp, jarring tone that slices the air and lands like a gunshot between us.His eyes flick to mine—dark, unreadable—but there’s something in the lines of his shoulders that tightens before he even answers. He pulls the phone out slow, thumb dragging across the screen. When he turns away to take the call, it’s not out of manners or consideration for others.No—It’s war prep.“Talk,” he growls into the phone, voice dropping to that razor-edged tone that commands men who kill on command and breathe orders like oxygen.I don’t move. Don’t breathe—I can’t. Not until I hear the faint creak of leather as he paces away from me, steps slow and controlled.“Yes,” he snaps. “North warehouse.”Warehouse.My pulse flickers, a spark jumping between synapses. I keep my face blank, my posture loose, but inside every nerve sits upright.He listens, silent but seething. His jaw flexes once. Twice. And then his next

Hale’s pov. She’s right where I left her.Perched among the pack of mob wives—women who were all caked with layers of makeup and heavy jewelry to flaunt their husband’s wealth, breathy from gossip. Their voices drone in waves, nasal and desperate, trying too hard to sound cultured and important. But it’s Calistra who commands the air around her — not by trying, but by existing.She doesn’t belong here.Not with them, at least.Not in the way she sits—poised, quiet, spine perfectly aligned like she’s carved from vengeance. Not in the way her eyes drag across the chandelier like she’s measuring how long it would take to bring it crashing down. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even nod when one of them laughs too loud at her own punchline. She just watches, evidently fed up.I smile.It’s not a pleasant smile. Not one I let others see.But she brings it out of me—the soft curve that says mine in every language that matters.She doesn’t see me approach.But I can tell she feels

Cali’s pov.The second the ballroom doors shut behind us, I feel the heat of his glare burn into my back like a target drawn in gasoline.He’s not touching me.He doesn’t have to.Every step I take toward the car feels like a countdown to destruction. The heels on my feet click too loud. My dress clings to my thighs like guilt. And inside, something wild is clawing at my ribs because I know—I know I fucked up.I didn’t mean to.The wine was strong—and out of sheer boredom and pent-up frustration, I had a little too much. Then Lucien appeared, all easy charm and perfect timing, and I needed the distraction. Needed anything to stop me from watching Hale with that cold, unreadable stare of his. The smug bastard didn’t even flinch when another woman practically threw herself at him earlier.So maybe I wanted to remind him I exist.Maybe I wanted him to feel it.Maybe I just wanted him to grab me instead—To pull me into his lap like I mattered. Like I was his.Which is messed up, consider

I don’t look at him.I can feel Hale’s eyes on me—burning, crawling across my skin like fire licking through dry grass—but I refuse to meet his gaze. My arms are clamped across my chest, legs squeezed so tight my thighs cramp, every shift reminding me of the slick heat between them. My skin still tingles where he touched me. Where he took. And I hate that it’s not just disgust I feel.It’s want.Goddamn it, what is wrong with me?I press my lips into a hard line and stare out the tinted window, pretending I don’t see my ruined reflection. No dress, nor any pride. Just the shivering silhouette of a girl who let the devil between her legs.My mother’s face flashes in my mind. Her smile. The way she used to hold my hand and kiss my forehead like I was something precious. My chest squeezes so tight I can’t breathe.She’s gone because of him. Because of Hale.And I… I let him—No. No more excuses. No more weakness. I got him out of my system. That’s all it was. Lust. Chemical imbalance. Ho