All Chapters of BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE’S CONTRACT : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

By the time Dr. Evans walked into the bedroom carrying a tray of actual food, I was sitting on the edge of the bed looking like a poster child for post-traumatic stress. The tray smelled amazing—like actual roasted chicken and buttered potatoes—but my stomach was doing backflips. "Eat," Dr. Evans said, setting the silver tray down on the heavy nightstand. He looked at me with those cold, clinical eyes, like I was a weird specimen under a microscope. "Alexander's orders. If you starve to death on my watch, he'll probably shoot me." "Thanks, doc. Really feeling the love," I muttered, staring at the steam rising off the plate. He didn't laugh. Shocker. He just checked the fresh bandage on Alexander's chest—since Alexander had walked back out of the closet wearing a tight black t-shirt—and muttered something in Italian before grabbing his medical bag and leaving the room. The door clicked shut, but I heard the guard outside shift his weight against the wall. We were officially locked

Staten Island. I stared at the tiny, glowing red pin on the burner phone screen, and I swear to god, my soul actually left my body for a second. Brooklyn was a decoy. Alexander was gearing up to take ninety percent of his security detail—his best guys, his heavy hitters, himself with literal torn stitches—and walk straight into a bunch of empty warehouses in Brooklyn. While Dante Rossi was sitting comfortably in his fortress on Staten Island, watching his tech guys pull up the digital footprint of a seventeen-million-dollar heist that led right back to Alexander’s living room. It was a setup. A massive, perfectly engineered trap. And Alexander was going to walk right into it because he was blinded by rage. By grief. By the fact that he thought Rossi was coming after me. "Oh my god," I whispered, my voice cracking in the empty bedroom. "He’s going to die." I yanked the ethernet adapter out of the bottom of the burner phone. I scrambled to delete the browser history, shut the ph

Alexander didn’t say another word after that terrifying little declaration. He just threw me into the back seat of the middle armored Escalade, slammed the heavy door, and locked it from the outside. So yeah, lol, I was officially a hostage on a full scale mafia assault team. The SUV smelled like fresh leather, weapons oil, and sheer panic. My panic, mostly. I scrambled over to the blacked-out window, watching through the heavy tint as Viktor practically lost his mind outside in the garage. Viktor was pacing, slamming his radio onto his tactical vest, barking Russian into a handheld radio while eight heavily armed guys in full black body armor moved around him like clockwork. They were racking bolts on assault rifles, shoving extra magazines into their vests, and strapping night vision goggles to their helmets. It looked like something straight out of a video game, except these guys weren’t digital avatars. They were massive, silent, and looked ready to tear down a building with t

The door clicked open about twenty minutes later, breaking me out of my spiraling panic attack. Alexander climbed into the front seat, letting out this dark, ragged breath as he pulled the heavy door shut behind him. He looked like he’d just dragged himself straight through hell. His black tactical vest was smeared with grease, soot, and fresh blood. His jaw was locked tight, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven rasps. He didn't look back at me. He just reached down, grabbed a white microfiber towel off the floorboards, and started wiping dark red fluid off his knuckles. "Is... is he dead?" I asked, my voice barely making a sound over the heavy hum of the dashboard heater. Alexander paused, his thick fingers tightening around the bloody rag. He looked up, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. "He's breathing," Alexander said softly, his tone completely flat. "Barely. Viktor is wrapping him up in a tarp and putting him in the third truck. He’s coming back upstate with

The medical bay sounded like an ER after a multi-car pileup on the turnpike. Monitors were beeping like crazy, rubber gloves were snapping, and somebody kept yelling for more saline rolls while the heavy metal double doors slammed back and forth. I was sitting on a cold stainless steel stool in the hallway right outside, hugging my knees tight to my chest. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, throwing this flickering, sick-looking glare across the gray linoleum floor. My knuckles were completely white. I had one hand stuffed deep inside the right pocket of my oversized gray hoodie... fingers wrapped so tight around that stolen silver USB drive that the aluminum edges were digging deep into my palm. My heart was beating like a jackhammer against my ribs, lol. If anyone looked at me too close, they'd see the absolute panic in my eyes. But right now? Nobody was looking at me. They were way too busy trying to keep the head of the mafia family from leaking out onto the floorboards.