Bound to the Don

Chapter 42

Third person POV

Armando's hand twitched on the book. Just slightly.

But Salma noticed.

He hadn't moved much the whole time they sat there, but now... something was off. It was like the calm was starting to slip, and something underneath was itching to break through. His fingers curled around the book's edge like they were holding back more than paper. Like they were aching to hold something else. Do something else.

And that small twitch—barely there—sent a chill down her spine.

She swallowed hard, trying not to let him see how tense she was. But she knew. He always noticed.

Her eyes stayed fixed on his hand, and her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want to have. Thoughts she couldn't stop. Was he about to get angry? Hurt her? Do something worse?

Then suddenly, without warning— slam!.

The book snapped shut like a whip cracking in the air, and Salma jumped in her seat. Her breath hitched before she could stop it. Her heartbeat went wild in her chest.

He didn't look at her right away.

He placed the book gently on the table, but it was the kind of calm that wasn't calm at all. The kind that meant the storm was just under the surface. When his eyes finally met hers, she froze.

That look.

Cold.

Hard.

It pinned her down like she was a problem he couldn't solve. Or worse—a problem he didn't want to solve. Like she was the thing ruining everything for him.

And maybe, in his eyes, she was.

But in hers?

He was the one who ruined everything.

He was the reason her life had turned upside down.

The reason she couldn't sleep without fear.

The reason her freedom was gone, her entire world cracked open and bleeding.

So why? Why was he still holding onto her?

The money her brother stole—it couldn't still be about that. Not after all this. Not after what he had already done. She had paid enough in fear, in pain, in control. So what more did he want?

She stared at him, chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths.

"What do you want from me?" she almost said.

But the words stayed trapped in her throat.

Because she already knew the answer. Control, he already made it clear to her.

Armando's eyes darkened as if he'd heard the question anyway.

He stood up. Swift. Smooth. The way a predator moves when it's about to close in.

Two steps—that's all it took for him to stand right in front of her. Towering over her again.

Salma's back pressed into the chair, her hands gripping the sides without even realizing it. Her breath caught. The biscuit in her hand dropped to the floor with a small thud. Forgotten.

Why is he so close? What is he doing?

She could feel his breath now. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.

His eyes didn't leave her face.

Her chest rose slowly with each shallow breath, but even that felt like too much. He was watching her—really watching her—with those cold eyes that gave nothing away. And she hated it. Hated how much her body noticed the things she was trying to ignore.