All Chapters of Bound by Blood and Bullets: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter 2: The SacrificeAlessio Vitale stared out the tinted window of the black SUV, watching the Manhattan lights blur into streaks of red and gold. Rain streaked the glass like tears, but his eyes were dry. He’d used up all his tears years ago.The driver didn’t speak. Neither did the two armed men in the front seat. Vitale soldiers—one last escort before they handed him over like a neatly wrapped package.He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.His brother—Don Salvatore Vitale—had sat him down that morning in the family study, the same room where Alessio had been beaten as a teenager for kissing a stable boy. Salvatore hadn’t raised a hand this time. He hadn’t needed to.“You’re going to marry Luca Rossi,” he’d said, calm as ordering coffee. “It ends the war. You’ll do your duty.”Duty.Alessio had stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, he’d smiled—slow, sharp, poisonous.“And if I say no?”Salvatore’s eyes had gone cold. “Then I’ll pu

Chapter 4: Wedding Night (Luca's POV) The penthouse felt like a goddamn tomb when we stepped inside. Too big, too empty, too full of whatever the hell this was between us. I shrugged off my jacket, letting it hit the chair with a soft thud, and yanked at my tie. Anything to loosen the noose around my neck. I poured a scotch—straight, no bullshit—and downed half of it in one go. The burn helped. A little. Alessio stood by the windows, turning that new ring on his finger like it was a puzzle he could solve. Or a lock he could pick. He looked untouchable in that gray suit, sharp and beautiful in a way that pissed me off. Made my gut twist with something I’d spent years ignoring. Burying. I didn’t offer him a drink. Didn’t know how to start that conversation. What was I supposed to say? *Welcome home, husband?* He poured his own anyway. Bold as ever. Sipped it slow, eyes flicking to me over the rim. “Celebrating?” I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I meant. “Commemorating,” he

Chapter 6: Canvas and Shadows (Alessio’s POV)I couldn’t breathe in that bedroom anymore.The sheets still smelled like him—like sex and scotch and that dark, addictive thing Luca carried around like cologne. Every time I closed my eyes I felt his hands pinning my wrists, heard that low growl in my ear: *So fucking good for me.*I hated how much I wanted to hear it again.So I fled to the only place that had ever been mine: art.The guest room—my room, supposedly—had a wide desk by the window. I’d unpacked my supplies the first night, before everything went to hell. Canvas, oils, brushes. The one constant in a life where everything else got taken away.It was late afternoon now, the penthouse quiet. Luca had disappeared into his office after we got back from the family lunch, door closed, phone calls muffled. Probably pretending I didn’t exist. Fine. I could pretend too.I set up a fresh canvas, squeezed out paint—deep crimson, indigo, burnt umber. Angry colors. I didn’t plan. Just at

Chapter 8: Penthouse Aftermath Alessio’s POVThe elevator ride up was silent, but the air between us crackled like it was about to ignite.Luca stood rigid beside me, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the numbers ticking higher. His hand still circled my wrist—not tight, but firm enough that I felt every pulse of his restraint. I could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with club smoke, and underneath it, the heat of him. Anger. Want. The same cocktail that had me trembling earlier on that balcony.The doors slid open. He pulled me inside the penthouse without a word, kicking the door shut behind us. The city lights spilled through the windows, painting long shadows across the marble floor.I didn’t wait for him to speak.I turned, pressing my back to the wall, chin up. “So. You dragged me out of there like a caveman because some guy smiled at me?”Luca’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, crowding me without touching. “He touched you.”“His hand was on my arm for two seconds.”“Two

Chapter 10: Warehouse Shadows (Alessio’s POV)The warehouse smelled like rust, oil, and old blood.Luca’s black SUV pulled up to the loading dock just as the sun dipped behind the skyline, turning everything bloody orange. I stepped out beside him, jacket zipped against the chill, trying to look like I belonged. Inside, my stomach twisted—not from fear, exactly, but from the raw edge of seeing Luca shift into full enforcer mode.He moved differently here: shoulders squared, eyes scanning every shadow, hand resting casually near the gun at his hip. The man who’d whispered praise against my skin last night was gone. This was the killer the streets whispered about.Enzo waited at the entrance, face grim. “Irish left the head in a duffel. No note. Just a message.”Luca nodded once. “Show me.”We followed him inside. The space was cavernous—crates stacked high, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. A cluster of Rossi capos stood around a metal table. In the center: a black duffel bag, unz