บททั้งหมดของ Bound to the silent don: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Chapter 1: The Blood Debt"Five million."The voice was cold, echoing through the empty cathedral where the deal was being struck.My father’s hands shook as he gripped the back of my chair. "She’s worth ten, Moretti. Look at her. She’s not just a face. She’s the best strategist in the tri-state area. She can quadruple your revenue in a month."I stared at the man sitting in the front pew.Dante Moretti. The Silent Don.He didn't look at my father. He didn't look at the bodyguards flanking the altar.His eyes were locked on me. They were dark, bottomless, and utterly predatory.He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.Dante raised a single finger."Six million," his Consigliere, Lorenzo, translated from the shadows. "And the Moretti family clears your gambling debt. Final offer.""Deal!" my father gasped, his relief sickening. "She’s yours. Take her."I stood up so fast the chair scraped against the marble floor like a scream. "I am not a piece of property to be traded between a cowar

Chapter 3: The North Bridge AmbushThe armored SUV tore through the rainy streets of the city like a silent predator.Inside, the air was thick with the scent of gun oil and Dante’s heavy cologne. He sat across from me, his long legs taking up most of the space. He was cleaning a sleek, black handgun, his movements rhythmic and terrifyingly calm."We’re three minutes from the bridge," Lorenzo said from the front seat, checking his tactical watch. "The scouts report nothing. It’s quiet, Bianca. Too quiet.""That’s because they’re already underneath," I said, my eyes glued to the digital map on the seat between us. "The Romanovs don't use the road. They use the maintenance catwalks."Dante stopped cleaning his gun. He looked up, his icy blue eyes pinning me to the seat."If you're wrong," Lorenzo warned, "we’re sitting ducks on that bridge. Dante doesn't like being a target.""I’m not wrong," I snapped. "Check the thermal sensors on the bridge supports. Now."Lorenzo tapped a few keys o

Chapter 5: The Council’s Judgment​The grand dining hall felt more like a courtroom.​Twelve men sat around a table of polished obsidian. They were the "Old Guard"—the capos who had built the Moretti empire on bone and betrayal. They didn't look like businessmen. They looked like vultures waiting for a carcass.​Dante walked in first. He didn't look at them. He took his seat at the head of the table, his presence turning the room ice-cold.​I followed, the gold serpent necklace heavy against my skin. I had swapped my ruined purple dress for a sharp, black silk gown that felt like armor.​"So," a man with a scarred face and a thick Russian accent spat. "This is the five-million-dollar girl. She looks like a glass doll, Dante. We needed an alliance, not a decoration."​Dante didn't move. He didn't blink. He just tapped his fingers once on the table.​"Don Moretti hears your concerns, Mikhail," Lorenzo said from behind the throne. "But he doesn't pay for decorations. He pays for weapons.

Chapter 7: The Serpent’s Coil​The fog at the North Docks was thick enough to swallow a man whole. I stood under the flickering yellow light of the pier, my skin crawling. The gold serpent necklace felt like Dante’s fingers around my throat—possessive, heavy, and cold.​"You’re late, Viktor," I called out into the mist.​A black sedan rolled forward, its headlights cutting through the gray. Viktor Romanov stepped out, a jagged smile on his face. He looked at me like I was a meal he’d been waiting for.​"I wanted to see if the mute had the balls to let you come," Viktor rasped, stopping three feet from me. "You look beautiful, Bianca. A waste for a man who can’t even tell you how much he wants you."​"He doesn't need to speak to keep me," I snapped. "Where is the trigger for the orphanage? Give it to me, and I might forget to tell him where you're hiding."​Viktor laughed, a dry, rattling sound. He pulled a silver remote from his pocket. "The kids? They’re fine. For now. But I think I’

Chapter 9: The Romanov Envoy​The penthouse smelled of rain and gunpowder.​Dante didn't let go of my face. His thumbs were still pressed against my jaw, his forehead resting against mine in the suffocating silence of the elevator. He breathed me in like I was his last lungful of air before a drowning.​Ding.​The doors slid open.​Standing in the center of our living room was a man dressed in a white military suit, stark against the dark Italian marble. He wasn't a mobster; he was a soldier.​"Princess Bianca," the man said, clicking his heels together. He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched his knees.​Dante’s reaction was instantaneous. He shoved me behind his back, his body a wall of iron. He didn't pull his gun this time. He just stood there, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.​"Step aside, Don Moretti," the Envoy said, straightening up. "The charade is over. We have tracked the bloodline. This woman is the daughter of Nikolai Romanov. She is the Sovere