All Chapters of Bound To The Devil's contract : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

*DANTE*Warehouse Twelve was empty. Another black feather on the concrete floor. Another note I didn’t read out loud. Another set of wiped cameras. The kind of calling card that wasn’t meant to hurt anyone, just to remind me they could. The Ravens were telling me they could get in anywhere. They were also telling me they weren’t ready to make a move yet. I left Lorenzo to handle the cleanup. Told him to burn the note and sweep for prints we both knew wouldn’t be there. By the time I got back to the estate the sun was already low, cutting through the trees and throwing long shadows across the drive. The house was too quiet. That was the first thing that hit me. No music from the kitchen. No Mrs. Bellini humming while she cooked. No guards joking by the gate. Just the sound of gravel under my tires and the weight of the day sitting in my chest. Guards at the gates nodded to me. I didn’t nod back. My hands smelled like dust and metal and something sour I couldn’t wash off.

*DANTE* I woke up thinking about yesterday. About the vineyard. About Elena laughing at something Bianca did when she was eight. About the way she’d looked at me when I finally stopped hiding behind half-truths. It had been the easiest day we’d spent together. No guards at the table. No business calls. No one bleeding or threatening to bleed. Just coffee and dirt and her asking me questions I didn’t want to answer. That alone should have worried me. I laid there for a while listening to the house. It was quiet. Too quiet. No sound of Elena in the kitchen. No Mrs. Bellini humming. Lorenzo knocked once and came in without waiting. He had a folder under his arm and dark circles under his eyes. “Morning,” he said. He dropped the folder on my nightstand. “Auction is in two days. Bellrose Foundation. Guest list is confirmed.” I sat up and rubbed a hand over my face. “Marco?” “He’ll be there,” Lorenzo said. “He never misses it. Photos, charity, the whole thing. Make

*ELENA*I woke up knowing this was the day. The house was quiet at 6 AM. No sound from Dante’s room. No sound from the kitchen yet. I laid there with the blanket pulled up to my chin, listening to my own breathing. Tomorrow was gone. Today was here. I showered with the water as hot as I could stand it. The navy dress was hanging on the back of the door. Simple. Long sleeves. High neck. Bianca had picked it because “you can run in it if you have to.” The invitation was still in the inner pocket. Elena Moretti. I got dressed slowly. I braided my hair and pinned it up with the silver pin Bianca had given me. I put on the comfortable shoes. The ones I could run in. Downstairs, Mrs. Bellini was already making tea. “Morning,” she said, smiling. “You’re up early.” “I couldn’t sleep,” I said. I kept my voice even. “I think I’ll go back up and rest before lunch.” Mrs. Bellini nodded. “You look tired, bella. Rest.” I kissed her cheek and went upstairs. I wasn’t going

*ELENA* The ballroom was still behind us. Lorenzo opened the car door and I slid into the back of the SUV. Dante followed and closed the door behind us. The sound was soft but final. Neither of us spoke. The leather was cool against my bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. My hands were still shaking. I tucked them under my legs so Dante wouldn’t see, but the tremor ran straight up my spine and settled low in my belly. Lorenzo pulled away from the Whitmore. City lights blurred past the windows. No radio. No phones. Just the low hum of the engine and the heat of Dante’s thigh pressed against mine. I kept replaying it. Leo’s face when he saw me. The way his arms felt around me—solid, familiar, gone too fast. The way he said *I’ll see you again* and then walked away anyway. My throat hurt. Dante sat perfectly still beside me. Tie loose. Jaw tight. Looking out the window, but I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. His hand rested on his knee, fingers

DANTE I hadn’t slept. The photograph was still on my desk where I’d left it at 3am, and the edges were starting to curl from how many times I’d picked it up and put it down again. Elena and Leo between the marble pillars at the Whitmore. Her arms around him like she thought he might disappear if she let go. His eyes closed, face turned into her shoulder. And behind them, half-hidden by a column, the man with the silver raven pinned to his lapel. I knew every inch of that photo without looking. The way the light hit the marble. The smudge on Leo’s shoe. The exact angle of the raven. The question I couldn’t answer was how it got taken in the first place. The ballroom had cameras in every corner. Security at every entrance. The private corridors off the main hall were restricted, keycard only, staff and family. Someone would have had to know the layout, know where to stand, know when to shoot. Someone had been in that corridor on purpose. The door opened and Lorenzo cam