บททั้งหมดของ BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

The night was too quiet. Bianca felt it long before she saw the strange stillness that coated the Romano estate like a shroud.She slipped out into the courtyard, wrapped in a thin robe, her sketchbook still in hand. The moon glinted off the marble fountain, turning it silver. Then, a whisper of movement at the edge of the garden froze her in place.A man stepped out of the shadows.Bianca’s breath caught in her throat.“Lorenzo?” Her voice cracked, disbelief making her tongue heavy.The figure smirked faintly beneath the hood he pulled back, revealing the face she hadn’t seen in years: the boy who once snuck her out of her father’s estate to watch fireworks, the friend who swore he’d take her away someday.But the man standing before her was no longer a boy. His dark hair was cropped shorter, his frame leaner, harder, the faint scar on his jaw telling stories of battles she’d never witnessed.“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered.“Yeah,” Lorenzo said softly, hands raised, palm

The estate was still humming with the chaos of the attack. Guards barked orders. Engines rumbled beyond the gates. But inside Matteo’s private wing, silence pressed like a living thing.Bianca stood in the center of his room, breath shallow, the echoes of the gunfire still ringing in her ears. She should have been terrified. She should have run. Instead, she felt… untethered, every nerve alight with the surge of adrenaline and something far more dangerous.Matteo locked the door behind them, turning the key with a click that sounded final. His jacket was gone, his shirt open at the throat, his chest still heaving from the fight.“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice like gravel, his eyes sweeping over her.“No,” Bianca said, though her pulse told another story.He stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him, the storm still raging under his skin. His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair from her face. The touch was almost too much.“You coul

The Romano estate had never looked so deadly. The grand ballroom was drenched in crimson and gold, crystal chandeliers blazing overhead, casting shards of light onto the marble floors. Guests wore silk masks, feathered and jeweled each, more elaborate than the last. The Red Gala was meant to be an evening of power and spectacle, a reminder that the Romanos still ruled the underworld with elegance.The ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, filled with the glittering cream of the criminal elite. Dons, heirs, wives, mistresses, and snakes in silk suits all masked, all watching. A string quartet played on the stage as servers drifted between tables carrying champagne flutes and crystal trays.Bianca felt every stare. She knew what they saw: Matteo Romano’s chosen woman, dressed in bloodred satin that clung to her like fire, standing tall at his side. A prize. A target. A message.Matteo’s hand never left the small of her back, guiding her through the throng with the air of a man who owned

The shattered stone from the sniper’s warning shot still littered the balcony when dawn broke over the estate. Bianca hadn’t slept. The bullet mark felt like a brand on her skin, an invisible reminder that even within these walls, she was prey.Matteo had doubled the guards overnight. Men patrolled the grounds in pairs, weapons visible, orders clear. Yet the threat gnawed at Bianca, deep and relentless.By noon, another blow landed.Raffaele burst into the study where Bianca sat reviewing maps with Luca. His face was grim, his phone in hand.“You need to see this.”Bianca took the device, heart pounding as the screen lit up with a video clip. Her stomach dropped.It was her at least, it looked like her wearing a sharp black coat and speaking to a group of men in a Chicago warehouse. The sound quality was poor, but her voice (or someone who sounded unnervingly like her) was clear enough:“The Romanos are soft. Their Donna is ready to break with Matteo and offer new alliances. You bring

“We ship at midnight,” Bianca said.The underground gallery went silent. Crates loomed like tombs, veiled statues cast long shadows in the lamplight. Matteo leaned against the doorway, unreadable. Luca shifted, twitchy and restless, his hand hovering near his pistol as if the silence itself demanded violence.Bianca spread the map across the table. Her voice was steady, steel beneath exhaustion.“Through Antwerp. Three couriers, staggered. One crate was declared as Roman sculptures too heavy to open. The others? Canvases, sold at auction. By the time the banks look twice, the money’s already clean.”Luca gave a bark of laughter, half admiration, half disbelief. “You sound like a Don.”Bianca met his gaze without blinking. “This isn’t chess. It’s war. And in war, the clever survive.”The operation unfurled with brutal speed. Papers forged. Crates sealed with wax. Couriers briefed under threats sharp enough to bleed. Bianca rode with the first shipment, disguised beneath a driver’s cap,