All Chapters of Bound To The Devil Heirs (The Marcelli Bloodline Series): Chapter 11 - Chapter 15

TaliaI swung the door open to my room, juggling the last of the shopping bags from Selene’s insistence that I come out and actually enjoy New York. I hadn’t been outside in days, and honestly, the walk through the bustling streets with her had been the only thing keeping me from wilting completely.Of course, the last thing I expected was to find Ares standing in the middle of my room. “Oh,” I said flatly, already bending to set the bags down. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Considering I hadn’t seen my husband in over two weeks, not since the morning after our wedding, this was not the most appropriate way to welcome him back. He turned toward me, his gaze tracking the movement of my throat as I swallowed. Then, as if this were a perfectly reasonable interaction, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook.It was unlocked, he wrote, tearing the page free and holding it out.I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “And?” I asked. “So was the front door. Would

AresThis place hadn't changed in the four years I hadn't been here. I didn't know if the lack of change was comforting or merely a testament to the stagnant, rotting nature of my own mind. Dr. Theo cleared his throat, drawing my focus back to him. He had aged significantly. The last time I’d sat in this chair, he’d had a fringe of grey hair; now, he was totally bald.“I didn't expect to see you again, Mr. Marcelli.” Neither had I expected to return. Coming back here felt like admitting defeat, like acknowledging that the beast I’d tried to domesticate with silence was finally slipping its chain. “How are you?” he asked, sliding on blue-rimmed glasses that looked ridiculous against his aged skin. His fingers hovered briefly over a notebook, the exact shade of cobalt as the one he'd used four years ago, before tapping it lightly. Humans were obsessive creatures, no matter how small the fixation. They disguised their compulsions as habits, preferences, or aesthetics. Theo’s was the

Ares It’d been nine hundred and fifty seconds since I'd left Talia in the garden… four hundred seconds since I took a seat across from my father. My blood was still screaming from the interrupted moment in the garden, and I was a hair’s breadth away from losing my mind. If the old man had interrupted for anything less than a surrender, I was going to snap. He didn't acknowledge me at first. He just sat in his high-backed chair, slowly swirling a glass of amber whiskey, the ice clinking with a rhythm that grated my nerves. It was a power move… the oldest one in his book… meant to make me feel like a child waiting for a lashing. It didn't work anymore, but he kept on trying. My eyes drifted to the chessboard on the low table between his chair and mine. To Cesare, this wasn't a game; it was an altar where he played god. Over the decades, he had offered every man he marked for death one final, cruel hope: beat him at chess and keep your life. He loved the smell of their desperatio