Lahat ng Kabanata ng Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

Cali’s pov.The book in my hands is garbage.Some CSI crime fiction thing I grabbed off a bottom shelf in Hale’s library just to feel like I was doing something other than rotting in my own head. I’ve reread the same page five times. Couldn’t even tell you the main character’s name.My legs are stretched out across the lounge chair, toes pointed toward the edge of the pool, face tilted up to catch the sun. It’s warm. Calming. The breeze barely brushes over my skin, the air thick with the faint scent of chlorine and freshly mowed grass.Hale’s estate is so big, so full of stone and glass and steel, that out here feels like a different world entirely. Quiet. Unwatched.He disappeared into his office earlier. I haven’t seen him since.And weirdly, that doesn’t make me feel unsafe anymore.The ache from watching that footage hasn’t left me. I’m not sure it ever will. That image of my mother falling—flowers in her hands, a smile still on her face—it burns behind my eyes like it was tattooe

I wake up to silence.The kind that feels too deliberate—like the house is holding its breath.The bed is still warm beside me, the sheets rumpled, the scent of him still clinging to the pillow. Tobacco and clove. Male and danger. That addictive blend I’ve come to crave even though I shouldn’t.But Hale is gone.A dull ache pulses in my chest, like the ghost of something sharp. I stretch slowly, each movement tugging at sore muscles and lingering bruises. My body hums with the aftermath of last night—and everything that came after. The weight of him above me. Inside me. The heat of his mouth. The press of his voice in my ear, low and unyielding.The way he held me like he wasn’t planning to let go.But now he’s not here.My fingers slide across the sheets, trailing the imprint of where his body lay. Still warm. He hasn’t been gone long.I blink at the early morning light filtering through the windows, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. Something tugs at the edge of my memory—his v

Belle's pov.I stopped counting the days after the locks changed.There’s no point anymore. The sun still rises through the tinted windows, but I don’t know what day it is. What time. I only know the routine. Wake up. Wash. Eat. Stay quiet. Pretend. Repeat.I’m not in a bedroom. I’m in a cell with silk sheets and a vanity full of red lipsticks. Every inch of this place is curated to look soft, luxurious. But the air is wrong. Still. Cold. Like even the house knows what’s coming.I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the breakfast tray that was slid in an hour ago. Toast. Fruit. Black coffee. Always the same. If I don’t eat it, someone will come in and feed me. Or worse—Burke might come himself.The first time that happened, he didn’t say a word. Just sat on the bed, cut the toast into neat triangles, and placed them one by one on a porcelain plate beside me.He called it kindness. I call it control.I nibble a corner of toast now just to avoid him.The silence stretches.Somewhere

Cali’s pov.Dinner is beautiful.Obscene, really.A bone-in ribeye steak, perfectly seared, glistening with garlic-thyme butter and resting beside a bed of truffle-infused mashed potatoes. There’s a stack of charred broccolini dusted with pink sea salt, and a delicate drizzle of red wine jus over the plate, like an artist signed their name in sauce.A glass of Château Margaux gleams to the left of the gold-rimmed plate, catching the chandelier’s light and bleeding it into the deep, garnet red of the wine.It looks like a meal meant for kings. Or assassins in suits.And I’m alone.I drag my fork slowly through the potatoes, take a small bite. My body’s hungry—my mind is not. I chew mechanically, my eyes drifting toward the empty seat across from me.He usually sits there. When he eats with me. When he’s not too busy brooding in his office or barking orders in some war room I’m not allowed to enter.I haven’t heard from him all day. No texts. No calls. Not even a shadow of his presence

Cali’s pov.I’ve paced a path into the damn carpet.The sun’s already started to set. Golden light slants in through the windows, making everything look soft and warm—like this place could be a home, if I squint hard enough and pretend I’m not trapped inside it.But I can’t focus on the light.Not when the silence is this loud.My phone sits on the edge of the bed like a weight. Mocking me.I’ve checked it a dozen times in the last hour. Just to make sure the signal hasn’t dropped. Just to make sure I haven’t missed it.Every time it lights up for something stupid—a spam email, a calendar notification—I feel that jolt of hope, followed by the crushing drop of disappointment.But then… it rings.Just once.The screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize.But I know who it is.My heart leaps straight into my throat. I fumble it up to my ear before it can finish the second ring.“Hale?”His voice comes through low, steady, clipped. “Cali.”I exhale sharply, sinking down onto the edg