Bound By The Don – Jade West

Fine. We would count. We would cut. We would collect. And if the past came hunting with paper again, we would burn the paper before it turned into fire. 1kitap1.com/en Chapter 11 Burn The Chapel Lorenzo The sea looked wrong. Too calm. Too blue. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that mocked a man who thought control was the same as peace.

Naples had always spoken in noise—horns, curses, prayers—but this morning it whispered. Even the gulls were silent. The storm had passed, and still the air felt heavy with its ghost. I stood at the window of my study, watching the water grind against the rocks. The reflection in the glass didn’t move for a long time. I had been up since before dawn, waiting for the report I already knew I’d hate.

Dante entered without knocking. He placed a thin folder on the desk, not looking at me until the last page stopped fluttering. “We found the leak.” “Say it.” He met my eyes. “Matteo.” The word hit like gunfire at close range. Short. Loud. Final. For a second, I heard nothing but the rush of my own pulse.

My brother’s name had been a thousand things in my life—a curse, a prayer, a memory of laughter—but never this. Never the sound of betrayal. “Proof?” I asked. Dante slid a photo across the desk. Matteo shaking hands with a man I’d once buried in Athens under a false name. Karras’s dog. My jaw clenched hard enough to crack. “He sold routes,” Dante said. “Dock manifests. Container numbers.

Not enough to burn us—but enough to test how far we’d let him reach.” “He wanted me to find out,” I said, voice flat. “He wants war.” Dante’s silence was agreement. I turned from the window. “And Faith?” He hesitated. “She doesn’t know yet. But she feels it. Everyone does. The house is holding its breath.”

Of course it was. The villa always knew when blood was about to spill. I poured whiskey into a glass I didn’t need, the sound too loud in the quiet room. “Find him.” “We’ve tried,” Dante said. “His men went dark. The villa in Amalfi was emptied two days ago.” He paused, then added quietly, “He took Paolo’s cross from the chapel.” That stopped me. Paolo. The youngest soldier. The one who still called me boss like it meant something holy.

Bound by the Don Copyright © 2025 Jade West All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

1kitap1.com/en Dedication For the readers who follow every vow, every chain, every fire to the end. 1kitap1.com/en Table of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue 1kitap1.com/en Chapter 1 The Weight of Blood Faith The house was quiet in the way of a church after a funeral—hushed, cleaned, pretending nothing monumental had just happened on its floor.

Three days had passed since Marco fell against the ivy wall and slid out of our story; the villa had learned a cautious kind of breathing. Doors didn’t slam; radios murmured like guilty men; even the sea seemed to hush when it hit the cliff, as if salt could be respectful. The staff moved with the precision of people who understood that routine was the one thing left that couldn’t betray you. I had once been a guest here. Now I was a fact.

The difference showed in glances—the long, assessing kind that measured how a woman carried the Don’s gravity. In the kitchen, a girl with flour on her cheek handed me coffee the way one might deliver a verdict. In the corridor, two guards paused mid-conversation and inclined their heads—not to be polite, but to say we know whose air you breathe.

Marcella said nothing and said everything when she pressed a rosary into my palm and closed my fingers around it as if counting might save me from the math of men. Lorenzo gave no speeches. He never did. He ruled the house by existing in rooms other men were afraid to enter. That day he decided the villa wasn’t big enough. “Get dressed,” he said, appearing in my doorway like certainty.

He had rolled his sleeves, a map of veins and discipline. “You’re coming with me.” “Where?” “Into the city.”

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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