Bound to the Don

Chapter 43

Third person POV

When Armando returned from his three-day trip to Russia, he had already decided—he would take Salma with him to the upcoming high-stakes mafia gathering.

It wasn't originally the plan.

After the death of the Massimo twins, Armando had spent weeks cleaning up the mess. The massacre had caused more damage than expected. He paid heavily—bribed officials, covered trails, erased names—just to keep it from leaking to the media.

But there were some things even money couldn't bury.

Il Consiglio dei Cinque—the feared Council of Five—sent for him. A summons no one in the underworld could ignore. They were the ones who watched from the shadows, holding mafia leaders accountable when lines were crossed. And Armando had crossed several. The night meant to honor the Massimo twins ended in bloodshed. A night of glory turned into a war zone—because of him.

They allowed him to live.
But only because they had planned to kill him that night too.

Now, he was expected to appear. Not just to face them, but to officially take over the empire the Massimos left behind.

He was supposed to go with Vittoria, his fiancée—calm, graceful and a match. The perfect partner for a night like this.

But something changed.

Without at the last minute, he changed his mind.

He didn't know why. He told himself it was strategy. That being close to her would speed up the process. That if he kept her near, she would break faster. Submit quicker. And once she did, he'd finally get rid of her.

That's what he told himself.

But the truth was that even Armando couldn't explain what was really pulling him toward her.

Those three days in Russia were supposed to be all about business—closing the deals, shaking hands, keeping his grip tight on the empire he was expanding. But for the first time, Armando's mind wasn't fully on the game. It was somewhere else.

No—with someone else.

Salma.

It was maddening. Her image wouldn't leave him alone. Her face, her voice, even the way she looked at him like she didn't know whether to hate him or fall apart under his gaze—it clung to his thoughts like smoke he couldn't wave away.

It had never happened before.

And it was taking a toll on him.

He wanted her gone. Out of his life. Out of his head. The idea of selling her had crossed his mind—letting someone else handle her, break her, mold her. Someone who knew what to do with a girl like that. But he quickly dismissed the thought.

He didn't sell girls. Even though he had mentioned it before.

He'd never done that, never would. That line, even for him, felt dirty.

Then another thought followed—easier and faster. To kill her. Make it simple. Remove the distraction entirely. But again, something stopped him. He didn't even know what it was.

And that pissed him off more than anything.

Maybe if he got what he wanted—her submission, her obedience, her surrender, maybe then he'd be satisfied. Maybe once he saw her completely under his control, mind and perhaps body... the chaos in him would stop.

So he finalized things faster than planned. He didn't care about rest or delay. He just needed to get back. To her.

As the private jet flew him back to Italy, a single thought looped in his head: