All Chapters of Sold to the Enemy: The Don Obsession : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

THE TACTICS OF DESPAIR~ALESSANDRO'S POV~The main bedroom was a mess, like a fancy furniture store that got totally trashed, and I was right in the middle of it.The maps of the Castellano estate were all over the fancy silk sheets I got so Giselle could feel like a queen. but right now, they were just being stained by the sweat dripping off my forehead and the occasional drop of blood from a bandage that was doing a terrible job of staying dry. I was leaning over the mattress, trying to hold a pencil steady enough to mark the entry points Silas was pointing out, but my hand was shaking in a way that made me feel like an ungrateful idiot who had forgotten how to hold anything more dangerous than a teacup."The West Wing isn't just some vanity renovation project, you little fucker, so stop staring at the blueprints like you can wish the walls down with your brooding," Silas croaked, his voice rough like he'd been yelling a lot.He tapped a deformed finger on a section of the basemen

THE VEIN OF THE HOUSE~ALESSANDRO'S POV~"If he's holding a séance for his dead mommy, I will make sure he joins her in the afterlife before his shitty tea even gets cold," I rasped, the words feeling like I was spitting out pieces of hot glass.I did not have time to process the fact that Marcus was currently having a full-blown mental breakdown or talking to the air; all I knew was that every second we spent crouching in a wet pipe was another second he was breathing the same oxygen as my wife. Silas did not say another word, just pulled a high-end thermal cutter from his kit and started working on the iron grate with a calm, quiet efficiency that made me want to punch him just for being so goddamn functional while I felt like a heap of discarded meat.The grate came away with a dull, quieted down thud that Silas caught before it could hit the concrete, and one by one, we slipped into the sub-basement like shadows returning to a grave. My feet hit the floor and a white-hot spike o

THE SURGICAL SIN~ALESSANDRO'S POV~The inside of the SUV smelled like wet leather, fancy gunpowder, and a bad reminder of my own mistakes.I was sitting in the back seat, my head resting on the headrest. Every bump in the road caused sharp pain in my side, making the stitches inside bleed and feel warm against my skin.I felt like a stack of discarded meat that had been shoved into a three-piece suit for a joke, an ungrateful idiot who was currently trying to figure out how to breathe without letting my left lung collapse into a useless, bloody sack."Give me the folder, Alessandro. You're shaking so bad you're going to tear the damn paper," Silas grunted from the front passenger seat. He didn't look back at me, his focus pinned on the darkness ahead, but I could hear the judgmental edge in his voice....the kind of tone you reserved for a dog that kept trying to run through a glass door."I've got it," I rasped, the words feeling like I was coughing up bits of a broken mirror. I gr

THE PORCELAIN MASK~GISELLE'S POV~The peppermint tea smelled like a chemical spill. It was the fifth cup today, and Marcus was getting impatient. I sat on the edge of the bed, the porcelain edge clinking against my teeth as I pretended to sip, while my stomach did a slow, nauseous roll.I looked at the fern in the corner. It was officially a brown, crispy stick of regret. If I dumped one more dose of Marcus's "vitamins" into that soil, the plant was probably going to sprout teeth and start screaming.I needed to look worse. Marcus was an overachiever when it came to his own ego, but he wasn't an ungrateful idiot. He had eventually notice that I looked way too healthy for a girl who was supposed to be a walking sedative.I crawled over to the vanity and grabbed my old eyeshadow palette. I rubbed a dark, shitty plum shade into the hollows under my eyes until I looked like a ghost that had been through a spin cycle. I smudged a bit of gray around my jawline and pulled a few curls

THE ART OF THE FADE~GISELLE'S POV~Faking a drug-induced stupor was a shitty, tiring science that required me to be an overachiever at looking like a total failure. I sat on the edge of the bed, my head leaned at an angle that made my neck ache, making sure my eyes stayed half-lidded and unfocused while my brain was busy recording the rhythmic thud of the guards' boots in the hallway. I felt like a puppet with shitty, trapped strings, waiting for the puppeteer to walk through the door and remind me why I had spent the last decade of my life trying to escape this dome-shaped facility of lies.The lock clicked...a quick, metallic sound that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated irritation through my chest....and Marcus strolled in, looking way too smug in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the souls of the mercenaries he had hired to guard me."Time for some fresh air, sorellina," he murmured, his voice sounding like honey poured over a bed of rusted nails. He reached down an