Bound by the Mafia Lord's Gilded Chains

couldn't quite warm. Bianca stepped out of the Galleria d'Ombra, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind her. She adjusted the

the very walls of the gallery. Every time the bell chimed, her heart performed a frantic, traitorous staccato. She told herself it w

er apartment, a new sensation bega

casual nods of fellow students, but a heavy, pressurized weight that settled

t a glance over her shoulder. The street was moderately crowded, filled with diners spilling out of tratt

illionaire. He's the 'Wolf.' He has empires to run. He do

building, the silence of the lane felt predatory. The streetlights here were spaced fur

k they looked like voids. It didn't move. It didn't flash its lights. It simply s

er hands were shaking, the metal jingling loudly in the quiet alley. Just as she managed to slide the key into the lock, the black se

slid down with a hu

wide. She expected to see those amber eyes again

er. He wasn't Dante. He was a sentinel. He didn't speak. He simply reached over and

" the man said, his voice

why he was following her, the window glided shut. The sedan accelerated

vanilla candles Bella liked and the permanent t

was buried under a mountain of fashion magazines. Her expression shifted from playfu

ace against the backdrop of their chipped mugs and mismatched chairs. "A man in a b

sing the room. "Maybe it's a bomb. Or a fing

bbon. The fabric was so heavy it felt lik

om ivory and rose gold, the nib shaped into a delicate, soaring hawk. Beside it lay a small, hand-calligra

sterpiece you have yet to write. Don't waste y

-

e any idea what this is? This is a vintage Montblanc 'Patron of Art' edition

ication. It wasn't an apology. It was a claim. He had looked into her life,

and a strange, fluttering heat she refused to acknowledge. "It's a bribe. He

asked, looking at her fri

, recalling his words in the gallery. "He said

his obsidian tower, watching the city, watching her. He was a shadow that had stepped out of the rain and into her reality, and no matter how

he box with

he "presence" she had felt in the alleyway suggested that returni

ine echoed through the Brera streets, a low howl that