Todos los capítulos de Unholy Matrimony: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

EveThe door slams shut, cutting off the music, the light, and the safety of the world outside.We’re in a service corridor. It’s narrow and smells of industrial floor wax and old dust. Dim emergency lights cast long, skeletal shadows against the concrete walls, turning the hallway into a tunnel of grey ribs.Weeks doesn't stop. He drags me along, heels skidding on the tiles. My head is still swimming from the punch, a sickening throb pulsating behind my eyes like a second heartbeat. I try to grab the wall, my nails scraping against the paint, but my fingers slip."Let go of me!" I gasp, my voice thick and unrecognizable to my own ears."Shut up," Weeks pants. He’s strong with the manic energy of adrenaline and alcohol. "Just shut up and walk, you haughty bitch."He shoves me through another door, into a storage room. It’s pitch black for a second until Weeks hits the light switch, bathing the room in a harsh, fluorescent hum. The space is cluttered with stacks of unused gold Chiavar

DominikMy hands are shaking.I stare at them, gripping the leather steering wheel of the Maybach until my knuckles turn the color of bone. These hands have held Glocks, combat knives, and the throats of men twice my size. They’ve signed death warrants and billion-dollar contracts without a tremor. They’ve remained steady while I stitched up my own wounds.But tonight, they’re shaking.A fine, microscopic tremor runs through the muscles of my forearms, betraying a systemic shock I haven't felt since I was a child standing over my mother’s casket.Enzo is cleaning up the scene with one of my specialized teams. He knows how to erase evidence, but I need something to do, so I punch his number on the speed dial."The footage," I say when he answers. My voice sounds unfamiliar. It scrapes against my throat like gravel. "The hotel servers.""Already done, Boss," Enzo replies. "I have a hacker on site. The loop is being replaced. As far as the Pierre is concerned, the cameras in the service

DominikIt’s been seven days since I washed another man’s blood off my wife. Seven days of silence in the space where our heated arguments used to be. Seven days of sleeping with her clinging to me like a vine choking a tree, her small body curled into mine as if she’s trying to merge our ribcages.And seven days of celibacy.I’m a man of discipline. I’ve endured torture, starvation, and the maddening boredom of staking out enemies for weeks at a time in my younger days. But denying myself Eve when she’s lying next to me, warm and soft and smelling of every desire I have, is a test of restraint that is rapidly fraying my sanity.My body is coiled tight, a constant, aching pressure in my groin. I’m used to taking her whenever I want. I am used to the violence of our passion, the way we tear at each other to prove we’re alive.But I can't touch her.Not like that. Not yet.I catch her sometimes, staring into the middle distance, her eyes glazed over with a darkness I recognize. It’s

EveThe leash has been loosened.It hasn't been cut. Dominik Grimaldi doesn't cut ties, he reinforces them with steel cabling and calls it freedom. But the choke collar is gone.I stand in the center of my office, packing a slim leather briefcase. "You’re taking Enzo," Dominik says from the doorway.He isn't wearing a jacket. His white shirt is rolled to the elbows, exposing the muscle and veins. He looks relaxed, leaning against the glass frame, but his eyes are tracking my every move like a radar system."I am," I confirm, snapping the lock shut. "He knows the protocol, and he doesn't talk much. I appreciate that about him.""He’s loyal," Dominik growls. "He’d take a bullet for you.""Let’s hope he doesn't have to."I pick up the bag and walk toward him.For the last month, since the incident at the Pierre, Dominik has been my shadow. He’s been everywhere. Driving me to work. Sitting in on my meetings. Watching me sleep. It was suffocating, heavy, and undeniably safe.But today, I’

EveThe smell of gunpowder is an acquired taste.A month ago, I would have wrinkled my nose at the acrid, sulfurous scent. I would have associated it with danger, with crime scenes.Now, it smells like autonomy.I stand in the center of the private outdoor range at the edge of the estate. The sun is high, beating down on the back of my neck, but I don't feel the heat. I only feel the cold weight of the Sig Sauer P365 in my hands."Widen your stance," Dominik commands.He’s standing right behind me. He isn't touching me, but I can feel him. He radiates a gravitational pull that messes with my equilibrium.Since we’ve started visiting his sex dungeon, I’m even more attuned to him than I was before. I shuffle my feet, digging the toes of my sneakers into the dirt."Shoulders forward," he instructs, his voice a low rumble near my ear. "You’re leaning back. If you fire like that, the recoil will knock you off balance. Lean into the violence, Eve. Don't shy away from it."I grit my teeth