All Chapters of Bound To A Possessive Mafia Don: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Anna froze, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she lowered it back to her plate, the soft clink sounding far too loud in the sudden quiet. Every eye at the table turned toward her.Her eyes flicked around the table, landing on their expectant faces. Everyone was waiting—expecting her to say something. Anna’s thoughts spun wildly. She didn’t know what to say, knowing that telling the truth would only make Isabella ask questions she couldn’t bear to answer, yet she couldn’t bring herself to lie. “We met at…” she began, but her words faltered.“At where?” Isabella prompted gently. Anna swallowed. “We met at—”“We met at a restaurant,” Vincenzo cut in.Anna turned to him and caught a wide smile on his lips as their gazes locked.“Isn’t that right, mi amore?” he added, raising an eyebrow.“Yes,” Anna breathed out, too quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”“The minute I set eyes on Anna that day, I couldn’t look away. From that moment, I knew she was the one for me,” Vincenzo conti

Anna shook her head. “No… I can’t. I can’t fall for someone like him… someone as ruthless as the Boss.” “It’s probably just my hormones. Yes, my pregnancy hormones are messing with my head,” she muttered to herself. Her hand drifted to her stomach, rubbing gently over the small but growing bump. It was already beginning to show, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it became obvious to everyone. “I need to lie down,” she murmured. “Maybe if I rest… maybe my hormones will calm down, and I’ll be able to think straight again.” With a quiet sigh, she moved to the bed and eased herself down onto the mattress. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. Slowly, she lay back, letting her head sink into the pillow. The faint scent of Vincenzo clung to the sheet. Her breath stilled for a moment before she closed her eyes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ When Anna woke, sunlight streamed through the window in thick ribbons of gold, warmer and brighter than before. Morning had quietly sl

Anna hesitated for a moment at the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the polished counters and the quiet sense of order that ruled the space.Stepping further into the kitchen, her eyes flickered between Martina and Rosalia.“I guess I must learn how to make Italian dishes today," she remarked, a slight tilt to her head. "There’s no escaping this, is there?”Martina and Rosalia exchanged a quick glance and smiled before turning back to her. “Yeah,” they said together.Without another word, Anna joined them at the counter, and Rosalia handed her a knife and a cutting board.Rosalia showed Anna how to slice the eggplant thin, how to layer the lasagna sheets just so, how to season the sauce until it tasted as if it had been simmering for generations.Martina stood beside her, chattering about nothing and everything—about the time Isabella had set fire to a dish towel, about the way their father used to sneak bites from the pots when their mother wasn't looking, about the recipe that had

The morning light sliced through the gap in the curtains—a blade of gold driving straight into Vincenzo’s skull.Slowly, he stirred awake, dragging an arm over his eyes to block it out.A groan tore from him, low and guttural, echoing inside his head.Pain pulsed behind his temples, sharp and relentless, as though someone were hammering against his skull from the inside.“I really should stop drinking,” he grumbled.The words hurt his throat as he said them.Drinking had become a habit. A bad one, he knew.But it helped him cope with the pressure—the deals, the threats, the need to always stay in control.For a few hours, it let him forget everything.But it never lasted.The hangover always hit the next morning, hard and sometimes unbearable.And each time, he regretted it more than the last.He lay on the bed for a while longer, letting the pounding in his head settle just enough to move.Eventually, he pushed himself up, rubbing a hand over his face as if he could wipe the hangover

A few hours later, the dining room had transformed.The table was cleared, the chairs pushed aside, opening the space into something looser, more social.Along one wall, a bar had been set up, staff moving quietly as they poured wine and whiskey.The lights dimmed, casting the room in a softer glow, while classical music drifted through the low hum of conversation.It was exactly the kind of gathering Anna imagined rich people enjoyed.Everyone looked relaxed, but the ease felt rehearsed, every laugh and gesture carefully measured.Across the room, women gathered in small groups, their jewelry glinting beneath the lights as they whispered about luxury vacations, designer handbags, and houses so massive they barely needed renovating.Anna drifted away from the crowd, knowing she didn’t belong there.She stopped near a floor-to-ceiling window, half-hidden in the shadows, and pressed her back against the cool glass, letting out a slow breath.From there, she could see Vincenzo across the