Bound to the Don

Chapter 28

Salma

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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The ticking of the clock was the only sound echoing through the room, each second dragging heavier than the last. The silence wasn't comforting—it was suffocating, thick with tension so intense it felt like the air itself might shatter.

I had resigned myself to fate. Truly. I knew better than to expect kindness or mercy from him today. Still, as much as I tried to brace myself, my mind kept dragging me back—to that moment with Louis.

The day he asked me to be his whore.

And I agreed. 
Not because I wanted to. But because it was the only way to save Omar's life.

Yet despite everything, Louis never once touched me. Not in that way. He never crossed the line I feared he would. A part of me hated him, yes, but another part... remembered that restraint.

Could I expect the same from Armando?

Or would he demand what Louis never did?

Would he look at me not as a person but as something he owned? Something to use?

Please, no. Anything but that, I pleaded silently. My lips didn't move, but my heart screamed in prayer. Ya Allah, not like this. Not again.

I waited—stiff, still, drowning in my spiraling thoughts. I needed him to say something, anything to break the torment in my mind. But instead of words, I felt a gloved finger under my chin, forcing my face upward.

The sensation chilled me to the bone.

The texture was rough, cold, lifeless. It felt like Satan himself was lifting my face to look him in the eye. My breath hitched, and I was certain that if this lasted a second longer, I would pass out right there.

Because this man—the infamous Armando Giovanni didn't need to raise a weapon to kill me.

His silence alone was deadly.

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I met his eyes, those dark, unreadable eyes void of anything resembling sympathy and in that moment, I truly feared for my life.

It hit me all at once. Where I was. Who I was facing. And whose gloved hand was resting under my chin, lifting it with the same casual indifference one might show a lifeless object. His gaze studied me like I was some kind of specimen, something fragile, pitiful, and beneath him. Or maybe... something he intended to break apart just to see what was inside.

I held my breath, silently begging for him to speak, anything to break this unbearable silence. If he didn't say something soon, I was sure I'd pass out right there.

"Plain," he finally said.

Just one word. Low, deep, and sharp enough to reverberate through my chest and sink into my bones. I shivered, unable to stop myself. His lips curled into a smirk, clearly amused by my reaction.

It took a second for my brain to register what he'd even said.

Plain?

He was talking about me, wasn't he?

Oh, how wonderful!, he finally realized I wasn't worth it. After giving up one of his estates and a ridiculous amount of money, now he was standing here, disappointed with what he'd bargained for.

Now what? What does a man like Armando Giovanni do with someone he deems "plain"?

As if plucking the thought straight out of my head, he muttered to himself, "What am I going to do with you?"

His voice was still low, still calm, but there was a chilling kind of calculation in his tone. One that made it very clear, he hadn't figured it out yet.