All Chapters of Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

There’s no such thing as a day off in Hell.Especially not when the devil is being quiet.Which is why I know—deep in my gut, in my bones, in the electric tension humming under my skin—that Hale didn’t give me the afternoon off to be generous. He didn’t do it to be kind, or merciful, or anything that could be misconstrued as soft. That man doesn’t move unless there’s a plan behind it. Everything he does, every step, every glance, every breath—it’s all designed to unmake someone.Tonight, that someone is me.The knock comes after dusk.I already have my hoodie zipped and my sweats tied tight at the hips. I don’t ask questions when the guard says “Mr. Holt is requesting you.” I just follow, silent and try my best not to think about the encounter I had with the maid earlier—whose name I’ve come to learn, is Melda.I push open the door and find him already seated at his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, ink visible beneath the low lamplight. His head lifts slowly, gaze dragging across

The humiliation hasn’t faded.It clings to my skin like sweat, soaked deep into every pore, heavy and suffocating. No matter how fast I move, how many doors I slam, or how hard I dig my nails into my palms just to ground myself—every effort for relief is fruitless.The worst part—it wasn’t hale’s invasion to my body that haunts me the most.It’s the sound I made.That one broken moan I couldn’t swallow in time. That sharp, needy gasp that cut through the air as his fingers curled inside me and my whole body responded like it had been waiting for it.Fifteen minutes. That’s all he gave me to recover.Fifteen damned minutes to get dressed, get out, and pretend like he hadn’t pushed me to the edge of orgasm on his fucking desk and then walked away without looking back.I don’t shower. I don’t wipe off the heat that still clings to my thighs. I don’t even try to fix my expression. Let them see it—let them see how fucking wrecked I am and assume it’s from the bruises and not the shame.By

Hale’s pov.“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” I repeat, more sternly this time.Cali’s grip tightens around whatever she’s holding, and she lifts her chin to glare at me like I have the audacity to interrupt her.I cross the room in two long strides and rip the phone from her hands before she can shove it down her waistband or behind her back like a damn teenager caught red-handed. She doesn’t resist, but her eyes stay locked on the device like it’s oxygen and I just yanked the tank.“Answer the question,” I growl, low and even. “What the hell are you doing?”She leans back on her hands like she’s lounging, like this is some casual misunderstanding instead of an outright violation. Her mouth lifts in that arrogant half-smile I want to slap off her face and kiss at the same time.“I figured,” she speaks slowly, “since I’m the woman of the house now, I’m allowed to go through the mail.”I arch a brow. “Cute. Try again.”Her smile widens, but there’s tension under it. T

Cali’s pov. The door shuts behind me with a soft click.I lean against it for a second, chest rising and falling fast, the air trapped inside my throat. My fingers shake.Not from Hale’s hands forcing food down my throat while I had to sit on his lap—painfully aware of something growing beneath my ass.No—it’s because of the letter.The one I tucked under the strap of my bra. The one he has no idea I took.My skin feels cold, of thinking how close he was to discovering the letter. Hale held me in place, hand tight at my waist, other one cutting up food and stuffing it into my mouth. But every time his arm moved, every time his fingers brushed close to the side of my breast, I thought he’d feel it. The edge of paper. Or the crackling noise it made if I—or he—moved too fast.He would’ve undressed me again. Or worse, since the letter was from my father—the man he hates the most—I’m certain the punishment would’ve topped all of the previous ones.But, he didn’t notice it.Thank God, he d

Hale brushes past me without saying another word. I hear his boots scrape the gravel, feel the air shift as he crosses to the edge of the courtyard, where the ivy climbs and the daisy bush waits in its pathetic little patch of obviously disturbed earth.I don’t follow.I don’t move at all.My feet stay rooted in place like they know that whatever happens next, moving won’t help. It’s too late to do anything about it now.Hale stands in front of the bush for a moment, like he’s studying it. The way the leaves tilt. The soil line. The rock.Then he lowers himself. He peers over his shoulder at me with a menacing smirk—one that said I was in a shit-ton of trouble right now. With his eyes trained on me, his hand brushes aside the daisy stems, fingers moving in a way that makes my throat tighten.Trying my best not to show how deeply his stare was seeping into my bones—how I felt in that moment—I snort, saying, “Yeah, yeah. You’ve proven your point.”His damn smirk only stretched wider. Th