Lahat ng Kabanata ng CONTRACTED TO THE DON...AND HIS TWIN: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

AURORA'S POV Dante Black showed up at the penthouse unannounced the next evening, like he owned the damn building. Which, technically, he did. Maria nearly tripped over herself letting him in. I was in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water when I felt the shift in the bond...both twins reacting at once. Nico’s cool edge sharpened, Matteo’s warmth pulled tighter. Then Dante walked in, silver hair catching the light, broad shoulders filling the doorway, wearing that same warm smile from the gala like it was his default setting. “Aurora!” he boomed, arms already open. “Look at you, making this place feel like home already.” I stepped into the hug because that’s what good daughters-in-law do. He smelled like expensive cologne and old cigars. Solid and fatherly. The kind of man who could make you forget he probably had bodies buried under half the city. “Dante,” I said, pulling back with a genuine-looking smile. “This is a surprise, Nico didn’t mention you were coming.” “That’s beca

I noticed the door on the third week. It was tucked away at the end of the east corridor, past the gym and the rarely-used guest suites. Unlike every other door in the penthouse, this one didn’t have a normal keyhole. Just a sleek digital keypad embedded in the matte black panel, glowing with soft blue numbers. No label, no explanation. The kind of door that screamed you are not supposed to be here. Naturally, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The first day, I played it cool. I walked past it twice while pretending to explore the place, Maria trailing behind me with fresh towels for the linen closet. I stopped, tilted my head like I was curious about nothing important. “What’s in there?” I asked, keeping my voice light. Maria didn’t even glance at the door. “Storage,” she said smoothly. Too smoothly. “Old things, Mr. Black prefers it kept locked.” “Which Mr. Black?” I pressed, smiling like we were girlfriends gossiping. She gave me a small, polite smile that told me nothing.

I felt the fight before I heard a single word. It hit me like a static shock straight to the chest... very sharp and ugly. I was curled up on the big leather couch in the living room, pretending to read some pretentious art book Nico had left out, when the bond suddenly crackled between the three of us. My skin prickled, the air in the penthouse got heavy, like right before a thunderstorm breaks. Nico and Matteo. They were in the study. Door shut tight, but the bond didn’t care about walls or closed doors. It fed me everything. Nico’s cold, razor-sharp anger slicing through the air. Matteo’s deeper, heavier frustration pushing back. Not loud. They weren’t yelling like normal people. This was worse... low voices, controlled, the kind of argument that only happens when two people know exactly where to twist the knife for maximum damage. I sat up slowly, the book sliding off my lap. My heart was already beating faster. This was rare, I’d never felt them go at each other like this be

The sun was already sneaking through the windows when I woke up. My body felt like it had been through a war in the best and worst ways... sore between my legs, ass aching, neck and thighs covered in marks from teeth and fingers. I was sandwiched between them, skin sticky with dried sweat and cum, the sheets twisted around our legs like we’d fought the bed itself. For a long minute I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of both of them. Nico’s arm heavy across my waist. Matteo’s breath warm against my shoulder. The bond felt… different. Not just wider or stronger, calibrated. Like something fundamental had clicked into place last night and there was no unscrewing it. I carefully slipped out from between them. My legs wobbled when I stood. I grabbed the first shirt I saw... Matteo’s this time... and padded out to the kitchen. Maria wasn’t in yet, good. I needed a minute alone before facing them. I started the coffee maker, moving slow, every muscle complaining

Nico didn’t say where we were going. He just walked into the bedroom late that afternoon while I was changing out of the shirt I’d stolen from Matteo, looked at me for a long second, and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’re leaving in ten.” No explanation, no gala, no meeting. No bullshit about networking or appearances and I didn’t ask. Something in his tone told me not to. I pulled on jeans, a soft sweater, and my old boots, the ones that still had scuffs from my real life. When I met him by the elevator, he was in dark jeans and a black Henley that stretched across his shoulders. No suit or armor, just Nico. The drive was quiet, but it was not the tense kind of quiet . The heavy kind. His hand stayed on my thigh the whole time, thumb brushing slow circles against the denim, but his eyes stayed on the road. The city gave way to warehouses and then to older neighborhoods with narrow streets and trees that had been there longer than most of the buildings. I watched the buil