Home / Mafia / BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT / Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

All Chapters of BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

116 Chapters

The Blood Toll

Malia KilsythThe smell of beeswax and burning incense usually brings people peace. To me, it just smells like cold marble and dead promises.I stood in the far transept of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, hidden in the shadows of the massive bluestone pillars, watching the candlelight flicker across the portrait of my older brother, Callan. Four years. Four years since they pulled his body out of the Yarra River, full of Calaby lead, and not a single day had passed where the taste of ash in my mouth felt any less bitter.Outside, Melbourne was drowning in a miserable autumn downpour, the rain beating hard against the stained-glass windows. Inside, I was drowning in my own silence.I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I touched the edge of the brass votive stand. The metal was icy. My sun-bronzed skin looked almost ghostly beneath the dim nave lights, but my grip on the small lighter was steady. I lit a single candle, watching the yellow flame spring to life, reflecting in the dark

Last Updated : 2026-08-30

THE PATRIARCH’S DEMAND

MALIA KILSYTHThe air inside my father’s study always tasted like old mahogany, expensive scotch, and dead dreams.I stood in front of his massive oak desk, my posture rigid, my fingers dug so tightly into the leather of my handbag that my knuckles were stark white. Outside the arched windows of the Kilsyth estate, the Melbourne drizzle slicked the dark glass, blurring the distant lights of the city. Down at the docks, the port war was tearing our territory apart, byte by byte, bullet by bullet. But inside this room, the silence was far more lethal.Alastair Kilsyth didn't look up from his papers immediately. He let me bleed in the silence. It was a powerful move, one he had perfected over fifty-eight years of ruling our family with an iron fist. He took a slow sip of his neat Macallan, the ice clinking softly against the crystal, before finally raising his obsidian eyes to meet mine."Sit down, Malia," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, devoid of any paternal warmth."I’ll

Last Updated : 2026-08-30

THE WARDEN’S SHADOW

MALIA KILSYTHHis thumb was still warm against my lower lip, a phantom brand burning long after he pulled his hand away.I didn't draw the knife tucked in my waistband. I didn't scream for the guards stationed outside the heavy double doors of the estate. My body remained locked in place, paralyzed not by fear, but by the sheer, suffocating gravity of the man standing inches from me.Jarrah Calaby didn't look like a Don who had fought his way to the top of Melbourne's bloody underworld; he looked like a natural disaster carved into the shape of a man. The sharp angle of his jaw, the faint trace of a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, the broad plane of his chest beneath immaculate black wool.everything about him broadcasted absolute, lethal control."You shouldn't be here," I breathed out, forcing the words through a throat tight with fury. "This is Kilsyth territory. If my father’s men catch you""Your father’s men are currently taking their orders from me," Jarrah interrupted, h

Last Updated : 2026-08-30

SISTERLY SECRETS

MALIA KILSYTHThe quiet in the eastern wing of the estate was a fragile thing, brittle as ice and just as easily shattered.I stood by the window of Elena’s conservatory, watching the rain beat a relentless rhythm against the glass. Below, on the gravel driveway, the dark sedan carrying Jarrah Calaby had long since vanished into the Melbourne fog, but the ghost of his touch still burned against my skin. My lower lip still felt heavy, warm, and branded by his thumb. My blood was a chaotic storm of hatred, disgust, and a sickening, electric pulse of awareness I refused to name.Behind me, the soft rustle of silk drew me out of the spiral."Malia?"I turned to see Elena standing in the doorway. In the dim, amber light of the conservatory’s floor lamps, my sister looked like a watercolor painting left out in the rain delicate, washed out, and entirely out of place in a family built on blood and narcotics. Her pale, porcelain skin seemed almost translucent under her soft cream cardigan, an

Last Updated : 2026-08-30

THE BRIDAL CAGE

MALIA KILSYTHSilk should not feel like chainmail, yet every yard of ivory satin draped over my skin felt heavy enough to sink me into the floor.I stood on the raised circular pedestal in the center of the private fitting suite, my hands resting lightly at my sides while three seamstresses hovered around me like silent, terrified sparrows. The boutique was locked from the inside, shut down completely for the day on my father’s orders. Outside the tinted glass windows, four armed Kilsyth enforcers paced the sidewalk of Collins Street, their jackets bulging over shoulder holsters.I was a prize horse being groomed for a slaughterhouse, and everyone in the room knew it."Hold your breath just a second, Miss Kilsyth," the lead designer whispered, her fingers trembling as she pulled the corset laces tight behind my back.I obeyed, feeling the internal boning dig viciously into my ribs, restricting my breathing until my lungs could only take in shallow, ragged sips of air. The reflection i

Last Updated : 2026-09-09

The Melbourne Cathedral Vows

POV: MaliaThe heavy oak doors of St. Paul’s Cathedral shut behind me with a thunderous thud, cutting off the crisp Melbourne breeze and trapping me inside a sanctuary that felt more like a mausoleum.The air was thick with the scent of crushed white lilies and cold marble. Sunlight filtered through the towering stained-glass windows, painting the aisle in shades of blood-red and bruised violet. Down that very aisle stood the man who held my family’s survival in his calloused hands.Jarrah.He didn't look like a groom waiting for his bride. He looked like an apex predator executing a hostile takeover.I clutched the heavy satin of my wedding gown, my knuckles turning stark white. Beneath the intricate lace of my long sleeves, my skin prickled with cold sweat. Every step I took felt like walking toward a firing squad. On the surface, this was a high-society wedding of two powerful Australian dynasties, a union to save my father's collapsing shipping empire from absolute ruin. But benea

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

The Reception of Snakes

POV: MaliaThe air inside the Toorak mansion didn't smell like money. Money smells like fresh paper and crisp cotton. This place smelled like antique wax, vintage champagne, and copper. The faint, lingering iron tang of blood that no amount of expensive bleach could ever wash out of the hardwood floors.I adjusted the hem of my silk dress, my palms damp against the delicate fabric. Every single person in this ballroom had a body buried somewhere in Victoria, or a shell company hiding a syndicate laundering operation."Stop fidgeting, Malia."Jarrah’s voice was a low, sandpaper rasp right against my ear. His hand slid to the small of my back not soft, not romantic, but a heavy, warning anchor. His fingers locked into place, pushing through the back of my dress until I could feel the ridge of his knuckles against my spine. Through the thin silk, his body radiated heat like an exposed engine."I'm not fidgeting," I whispered, keeping my smile pasted on for the room. "I'm surviving.""You

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

The Threshold

POV: MaliaThe iron gates didn’t just swing open; they ground against the gravel like teeth biting down on stone.Outside the tinted glass of Jarrah’s SUV, the world had dissolved into vertical shadows. Rain hit the roof in heavy, rhythmic thuds, drumming out the reality of what I’d just done. I had signed the paper. I had traded the mortgage on my father’s soul for two years of silence, a ring that weighed heavier than lead on my left hand, and the sanctuary of a man who looked at me like I was a problem he hadn't decided whether to solve or break."We're here," Jarrah said.His voice was low, rasping at the edges from hours of unsaid things. He didn't turn to look at me. He just cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt like water filling a sinking boat.Through the rain-streaked window, the estate towered into the mist of the Dandenong Ranges. It wasn't a home; it was a monolith. Dark stone, exposed ironbark timber, and sweeping sheets of glass that stared back at the ancient mou

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

Knife at the Throat

POV: MaliaThe heavy oak doors of the bridal chamber clicked shut, the sound echoing through the cavernous room like the drop of an iron portcullis.I stood rooted to the center of the plush, crimson carpet, my hands tucked deep into the stiff, heavy folds of my embroidered silk gown. The air in the room was suffocatingly warm, thick with the cloying scent of crushed jasmine and expensive beeswax candles. It was supposed to be a room prepared for celebration, for union. To me, it felt like a gilded cage built specifically to execute me.Behind me, I heard the slow, unhurried rustle of heavy wool as Jarrah shed his ceremonial cloak.My heart was beating so violently against my ribs that I was certain he could hear it. For three months, I had trained my body to be silent, to be invisible, to survive in the shadow of the warlord who had crushed my family’s lands and claimed me as a prize of peace. Tonight was the night the treaty took effect. Tonight was the night I was expected to yield

Last Updated : 2026-09-12

The Six-Month

POV: MaliaThe mahogany desk between us felt wider than an ocean.Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass of Jarrah’s penthouse suite, rain slammed against the city, blurring the skyline into streaks of muted neon. Inside, the only light came from a single bronze desk lamp and the dull embers dying in the fireplace behind him.Jarrah didn't look like a man who had just offered me a lifeline. He looked like an executioner waiting for me to place my own neck on the block.He leaned back in his leather chair, the dark fabric of his tailored suit jacket shifting silently with the movement. His fingers were loosely laced over his stomach, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle against his cufflink. His face was entirely devoid of warmth: sharp jaw, harsh brow, and dark, unreadable eyes that hadn't left my face since I walked through his doors twenty minutes ago."You're shaking," he said. His voice was low, smooth, and laced with a quiet authority that turned the air in my lungs to lead.I p

Last Updated : 2026-09-12

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