Todos os capítulos de Owned By The Don : Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

The rain hadn’t stopped since morning, turning the streets around Club Eden into a slick maze of reflections. Inside, the music still pounded, the dancers still smiled, but Jaxon knew the pulse of the place had changed. Fear hung in the air like smoke, invisible but choking.He’d kept his face carved from marble through the day’s fallout, police inspections that “just happened” to coincide with Zane’s threats, a liquor shipment mysteriously delayed, whispers among the staff that something ugly was brewing. Every message screamed sabotage, but Jaxon refused to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.Tonight wasn’t about cleaning up Zane’s mess. Tonight was about springing a trap.Jaxon moved through the private corridors of Eden, his security chief, Victor, matching pace at his side. “The new cameras are live,” Victor reported. “Every hallway, every office, even the VIP suites. No blind spots this time.”“Good,” Jaxon said, voice clipped. “And the bait?”Victor’s smile

The morning broke red over the old Morreau estate, a bloody sun splitting the horizon. Jaxon didn’t notice it. He stood in front of the massive glass wall of his office, phone buzzing endlessly on the desk behind him, and stared at the city below as if he could crush it with his eyes.The article was everywhere. Everywhere. Not just in the underground feeds where Raven’s pieces normally lived. This had been fed directly to the largest media outlets, splashed on front pages, dissected by anchors with sharp smiles. Names were named. Deals were described. The kind of information only someone on the inside would know.And at the bottom of every column, stamped like a bullet casing, was the byline. Raven Knight.Jaxon hadn’t seen her yet. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Rage, cold and surgical, spread through him, not the wildfire Zane always expected, but something deadlier.The door opened without a knock, only one man in his world had that right. Marco, his most trusted lieutenant, plac

Jaxon didn’t sleep. By dawn, his penthouse was still lit, whiskey glass untouched on the table. His phone kept vibrating, Dante’s damage reports, security alerts, whispers from the club about staff questioning his leadership. But one message froze him more than the rest.A photo.Raven, slipping out of the building at midnight. The timestamp matched the exact window he’d asked her not to leave, and the sender? Zane. No words. No threats. Just proof.The glass cracked in his fist.By afternoon, Club Eden was a storm. The article Raven had written, or rather, the one Zane had leaked, had everyone on edge. It didn’t name Jaxon outright, but the descriptions were too precise to be coincidence. Politicians were pulling their funding, inspectors were crawling all over the place, and staff were whispering about betrayal.Jaxon kept his face like stone as he walked through the club, but inside his temper was razor-thin. Every nervous glance from his employees felt like a test of loyalty. Ever

“Tomorrow we make them pay. Painstakingly. Every last one of them.” Those were the words ringing in Raven’s ears when she finally left Jaxon’s office in the gray haze before dawn. Her legs still felt unsteady, not from fear but from the sheer heat of his presence, his promise, his claim. Whatever rift had been between them was gone, burned away by something fiercer than love, sharper than anger.The city outside the club was quiet. The kind of hush that comes before a storm.Zane Morreau was having the kind of morning that could make a man believe in curses. First, three of his offshore accounts were frozen without warning. Then one of his lieutenants, his own cousin, was found stuffed into a trunk, alive but barely breathing, with a silver coin pressed into his bloody palm.A coin Jaxon used to leave as a warning, back when they were boys running street corners. Zane hadn’t seen that coin in years.He sat in the back of his armored SUV, swirling whiskey in a crystal tumbler, watching

The night was quiet, too quiet for a city that never slept. Raven sat curled on the leather sofa of Jaxon’s penthouse, knees drawn up, blanket around her shoulders though the room was warm. Her hair clung damp to her temples. She’d showered twice already, as if water could scrub off the memory of Zane’s hands, Zane’s voice, the smell of his lair.The elevator chimed softly behind her. Jaxon stepped out, still in the black shirt he’d worn when he tore through Zane’s men to get to her. The shirt was stained with dried blood, none of it his own. He moved like a man made of stone, face set, shoulders heavy.Raven looked up, but neither of them spoke right away. The silence pressed like a third person in the room.He poured two glasses of whiskey without asking if she wanted one, set one on the table in front of her, and stayed standing. “You should rest,” he said finally, voice low, rough.“I tried.” Her voice sounded alien to her own ears, flat and sharp at the same time. “Every time I c