บททั้งหมดของ The Don's sinful obsession : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

~~~Luca's POV~~~The basement feed flickers on my screen like a heartbeat I can't look away from.I have been sitting in my office for hours. Maybe longer. The whiskey in my glass has gone warm, the ice long melted, but I don't pour another. I just watch. The camera in the corner of the basement is old, the image grainy, but I can see her clearly enough.Anne sits on the mattress in the corner. Her back is against the concrete wall. Her knees are pulled to her chest. Her bandaged arm rests in her lap like something broken that she doesn't know how to fix.She hasn't moved in hours.Not to pace, cry or even bang on the door like I had expected. Like I'd wanted.She just... sits.I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me, and watch her do nothing.This is what you wanted, I tell myself. You wanted her broken. You wanted her to suffer. You wanted her to feel every moment of pain she caused you.But she isn't breaking the way I expected.The Anne I remember would have screa

~~~Anne's POV~~~The fever comes for me in the night.I don't know when it starts. Time moves strangely in the basement. Hours bleed into each other. The single bulb overhead never turns off, so I can't tell day from night, can't track the passing of anything except my own deterioration.First comes the cold.I have been cold since the alley. Since Lucinda's basement. Since Luca dragged me out of that car and locked me in this concrete tomb. But this is different. This cold comes from inside. It settles in my bones, my blood, my breath. I pull my knees tighter to my chest, wrap my arms around myself, but nothing helps.Then comes the heat.It crashes over me in waves. One moment I am shivering, my teeth chattering so hard I think they might crack. The next I am burning, my skin too tight, my blood too hot, my brain cooking inside my skull.I stop eating. Not because I am trying to die. Because I can't. The thought of food makes my stomach turn. The smell of the bread Carmela leaves on

~~~Luca's POV~~~The basement is cold. Damper than I remember. The single bulb overhead flickers, casting yellow shadows on the concrete walls. It smells like mildew and blood and something else. Something that reminds me of her.Anne lies on the mattress in the corner, curled into herself, her bandaged arm pressed against her chest. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell she isn't sleeping. Her breathing is too fast. Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her dress.I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching her.She looks smaller than I remember. Thinner. The bruises on her face have spread, turned purple and green. Her split lip has scabbed over but hasn't healed clean. Dark circles shadow her eyes like she hasn't slept in weeks.You did this, a voice says in my head. You locked her down here. You left her.I push the voice away."Anne."She doesn't open her eyes. Doesn't move.I walk closer. Crouch beside her. Reach out and press my hand against her forehead.Her skin is burning

~~~Monic's POV~~~The iron gates of the Romani estate are closed.They are never closed. Not to me. I have walked through them a hundred times, a thousand, without slowing, without announcing myself, without anyone questioning my right to be here.Today, a guard steps into my path."Signorina Monic." His voice is respectful, but his body blocks the entrance. "The Don is not receiving visitors."I laugh. "I'm not a visitor. I'm his fiancée.""The Don's orders.""Let me through.""I can't."I look at him. Really look. He is young — new, maybe. He doesn't know me. Doesn't know what I am capable of."Do you know who I am?" I ask."Yes, Signorina.""Then you know that in a few months, I will be the Don's wife. I will be the woman giving orders in this house. And men like you — men who stand in my way — will be the first to go."His face doesn't change. "The Don's orders."I feel my face grow hot. My hands curl into fists."I am not a visitor," I say again, slower this time, like I am expla

~~~Anne's POV~~~The door clicks shut behind him, and nothing about me feels safer.If anything, it feels worse. Because now I know. He isn't guessing anymore. He is searching. Actively. Methodically. With resources I can't imagine and reach I can't escape.Austin.The name echoes in my head like a warning bell.I lie in his bed, in his room, in his house, and stare at the ceiling. The sheets smell like him. The pillows smell like him. Everything around me is him, and I can't breathe.He is going to find out. He is going to find you, Austin. And then—I can't finish the thought. Don't want to.I press my hands against my eyes. Try to stop the tears. Fail.Mommy's sorry, baby. Mommy's so sorry.---Carmela comes later.She moves quietly, the way she always does, her footsteps soft on the marble floor. She carries a tray — soup, bread, tea — and sets it on the nightstand without a word.I watch her.She doesn't look at me. That isn't unusual. Carmela has never been warm. But today, ther