Semua Bab Bound By The Don's Bloody Bargain : Bab 41 - Bab 50

Enzo POVThe night air bit with a cold sharpness, but I welcomed it like a slap to the face. It had been days since I saw Olivia—my Olivia, the slick puppet in Luciano’s deadly play. Every time I thought of her, something twisted inside me—a cocktail of desire and frustration, tangled with a dangerous hunger that was just barely restrained.I paced toward the balcony, my boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. Outside, the city stretched like a glittering beast beneath me, full of secrets and lies and promises whispered into the dark. I leaned against the cold metal railing, letting the wind whip at my hair and scrape the tension raw from my skin.“Get me some liquor,” I barked without looking back, my voice low and clipped.A young thug nodded and disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the thick walls. I closed my eyes for a moment, tasting the silence like a drug.The door creaked open again, and my guy handed me a bottle of whiskey and a glass

Olivia POV The silence between us was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Luciano’s eyes never left mine, heavy with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, desperation, or maybe a fractured hope. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to ground myself before I lost whatever shred of control I had left. A sudden sharp beep from the heart monitor behind me cut through the tension. I turned to see the nurse entering with a fresh tray of meds. She avoided looking at either of us, but I caught her eyes flicker briefly to the papers in my hand before she slipped the pills onto the bedside table. “Do you want me to leave you two alone?” she asked softly. “No,” I said before Luciano could answer. “I need to think.” She nodded and left quietly, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. The room felt emptier, colder. I sat back down on the edge of the bed, fingers trembling as I wrapped the thin gown tighter around myself. My mind was spinning, a wild storm o

That one landed hard. His eyes snapped to mine, something wild sparking behind them, but he didn’t lash out. Didn’t shout. Just… stood there. Letting me unravel. “Do you think I planned this?” I hissed. “You think I wanted this life? To be trapped in your house, in your war, in your bed, and now in this goddamn body that doesn’t even feel like mine anymore?” He stepped closer. “I never meant—” “You never meant?” I cut him off, laughing again, sharp this time. “Luciano, you never meant to do a lot of things. You never meant to pull me into this world. You never meant to make me stay. You never meant to get me pregnant. But here I am. Still here. Still bleeding pieces of myself for a man who can’t even decide what he wants from me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know that I’ve messed this up?” “Oh no, sweetheart. You didn’t mess this up. You nuked it.” Silence again. He stared at the floor like the answers were buried under the rug. Maybe they were. Maybe this

Olivia POVI wasn't strategic enough. Now I’m pregnant.Stupid girl.Smart mouth, dumb choices.The bright sunlight pierced through the dusty blinds like it had something personal against me. I winced and turned my head away from it, hissing under my breath as my body protested every little movement. My stomach churned. Whether from the pregnancy or the anxiety, I couldn’t say. Probably both. What a beautiful mess.My hand brushed across the sheets. Cold. Empty. Typical.I sat up slowly, my bare skin prickling as I realized I’d slept without anything on. Again. I pulled the duvet closer, trying to piece together how I’d gotten to bed last night. My memory was foggy, but not because I drank—I hadn’t touched a drop. I was just mentally drunk. On bad decisions.Then the noise started.Voices. Heavy boots thudding across hardwood. Shouted orders. The unmistakable clink of metal—guns, probably. Of course. Because nothing says "good morning, sunshine" like a mafia operation downstairs while

Matteo's POV The first crack of thunder didn’t come from the sky. It came from the explosion at Dock Nine. I was already in the car when the blast lit up the early morning like a match striking hell. The windows shook, the tires skidded, and Andrew cursed under his breath as the echo rolled across South Port. "Was that ours?" he asked, hand already on the Glock at his hip. "No," I muttered, jaw clenched. "It was theirs." The Cavazza family. I should've seen it coming. The warning signs were all there—skipped meetings, delayed shipments, too many eyes watching from corners that weren’t theirs. And now this? They didn’t just light a fuse; they declared war. I looked out the tinted window as we turned onto Mill Row, the back route to the docks. Smoke plumed high in the sky, thick and black, like the city itself was bleeding. Andrew pressed his earpiece. "Get the others in formation. Lock down the perimeter. No one leaves, no one talks unless they want their tongue on the concret