All Chapters of Bound By The Don's Bloody Bargain : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Olivia's pov “Let's take a moment to talk, Olivia. I need one true answer from you before you run back into the arms of your lover,” Matteo's voice sliced through the charged air as he stepped into the dimly lit room. His dark eyes flickered around, taking in every detail as if gauging his control over the situation. What did he just say? He’s going to release me? That’s rich coming from him, I thought, a bemused smile almost breaking free before I reminded myself to remain composed. “What is it that you want from me, Matteo?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. My hands instinctively settled on my lap, trying to quell the mounting tension that prickled at the edges of my anxiety as I sat cross-legged on the cold floor. He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he squatted before me, bringing a heavy aura of authority. With a deliberate motion, he brushed my hair back, tucking it behind my ear, and his fingers lingered as he raised my chin with the gentlest pressure of his

Luciano pov I strode through the dimly lit hallway, the faint glow of the wall sconces casting flickering shadows that danced ominously across the aged wallpaper. The air was thick with tension, electrified by the adrenaline still coursing through my veins from the harrowing rescue I had just executed. With each step, my heart pounded loudly in my chest, a steady reminder of the chaos I had just navigated. As I reached Olivia’s door, the weight of the moment settled on my shoulders. I pushed open the door with a gentle creak, my breath hitching at the sight that met me. There she was, her fragile form curled up on the bed, looking so small and vulnerable beneath the soft, muted colors of her blankets. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut—a visceral reminder of just how precarious life could be. In an instant, I crossed the room, my long legs covering the distance with urgency. I swept her into my arms without hesitation, cradling her against my chest, feeling the delicate tre

Olivia pov I gave a dry chuckle and flopped onto the leather chair across from him, crossing my arms. “Didn’t know the mafia gave out bedside manners.” Before he could answer, a short, balding man with round glasses and a thin medical bag stepped into the room. He looked like someone’s nervous uncle and walked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Miss Olivia,” he said softly, nodding at me. “I’m Dr. Grimaldi. I just need to run a quick health check. Routine.” “Routine for what?” I shot Luciano a look. He still wasn’t looking directly at me. His jaw was set, the vein at his temple twitching like a clock’s second hand. “After what happened with Matteo, I need to make sure you're clean. No infections. No drugs. No... permanent damage.” Ah. There it is. The why behind the medical guest appearance. Luciano wasn’t the type to say, “I was worried about you.” No. He sent doctors and pretended it was procedure. He acted like he didn’t care while making sure I wasn’t falling apart. Clas

Olivia pov He looked down at me, expression unreadable. “You were more than arm candy.” I scoffed. “Oh, great. A whole centerpiece.” He paused. Then, almost too quiet to catch, “You were the warning.” I blinked. “What?” But he didn’t repeat himself. Just opened the car door and waited. That silence again. That damn silence. He was starting to scare me—and not because he was dangerous. Because he wasn’t pretending I was just a deal anymore. And I didn’t know what that meant for either of us. The second we stepped out of the high-rise, I braced myself for the usual: the steel silence, the loaded glances, the inevitable command for Marco to drive us back to the penthouse where I could stew in confusion and he could avoid my questions. But that’s not what happened. Luciano slid into the back seat, gaze forward, jaw tense enough to crack granite. I followed, trying not to let the uncertainty chip at the armor I’d worn all morning. Marco turned in his seat. “Home, boss?” “N

Olivia pov I stared at him for a long moment, folding my arms across my chest like a human shield. “Sit,” he repeated, tone flat like he didn’t have time for my usual sass. So I did. I dropped onto the couch with enough flair to make a statement, but not enough to look like I cared. Because I didn’t. Obviously. The doctor—a quiet man in a tailored navy suit with the bedside manner of a filing cabinet—came in moments later, barely sparing me a glance before pulling out his little black bag. He poked, prodded, checked my pulse, and asked if I’d been dizzy. I almost said only when Luciano speaks, but I bit my tongue. Barely. “She’s fine,” the doctor announced like I was a toaster he’d just tested. “No thanks to you,” I muttered, eyes locked on Luciano. He ignored me. Again. The man was fluent in selective hearing. Once the doctor left, Luciano stood, slow and measured. “Get dressed. Something decent.” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “We’re going out tonight. Club Verde. Be ready in an