A Vow Written in Blood

The first time Dante Moretti saw Alessia Romano, she was standing beside her brother’s grave.

Rain darkened her black dress and flattened strands of chestnut hair against her pale face. Everyone else carried an umbrella, sheltered beneath a sea of black fabric while the priest spoke about mercy, eternal peace and a God who welcomed sinners.

Alessia stood uncovered.

She allowed the storm to soak her as though she believed grief should never be softened.

She was twenty-two then—too young to look so empty and too proud to let anyone see her break.

Dante watched from behind the tinted window of a black sedan parked beyond the cemetery gates. He had no right to be there. If Luca Romano’s soldiers discovered that the head of the Moretti family had attended Gabriel’s funeral, the fragile ceasefire would end before the casket was lowered.

Perhaps that was what Dante wanted.

War, at least, was honest.

Luca Romano stood at the front of the mourners with one hand resting upon his daughter’s shoulder. Grief suited him. He wore it like one of his expensive suits: carefully tailored, convincing from a distance and completely hollow beneath the surface.

Dante knew because he had seen the evidence.

Gabriel had uncovered records connecting Luca to Viktor Sokolov, corrupt judges, police commanders and politicians who had been purchased like cattle. He had planned to expose them all.

Luca had learned of the plan.

Now Gabriel was supposedly inside a closed coffin.

Dante did not know whether his friend was truly dead. He knew only that Gabriel had left their final meeting alive and disappeared less than an hour later. By sunrise, Luca had announced his son’s murder and blamed Dante.

Alessia believed the lie.

Dante could see it in the rigid line of her back.

“Once the service ends, we leave,” Enzo said from the driver’s seat. “If Luca sees us, we’ll have thirty Romano soldiers surrounding the car.”

Dante didn’t answer.

He remembered Gabriel’s last request.

Whatever happens to me, protect my sister.

Dante had agreed because Gabriel was his friend.

Then he had opened the small photograph Gabriel carried inside his wallet and seen Alessia smiling into the summer sun.

Something had changed in that moment.

The priest finished his prayer. One by one, mourners placed white roses upon the casket.

Alessia did not move.

Luca leaned towards her and whispered something. She pulled away from his hand before walking towards the grave alone.

She placed no flower upon the coffin.

Instead, she removed the delicate gold chain around her neck and lowered it onto the polished wood. A small star rested against the black surface.

Gabriel had given it to her when she was a child.

The sight tightened something beneath Dante’s ribs.

Alessia bowed her head. Her shoulders trembled once.

Then she became still.

“Dante,” Enzo warned. “We need to go.”

Alessia suddenly lifted her gaze towards the cemetery gates.

Towards the car.

The tinted windows should have concealed him, but her expression changed. Her sorrow hardened into hatred, sharp and immediate.

She left the grave and walked through the rain.

Romano soldiers watched her. None attempted to stop her.

Alessia halted several metres from Dante’s car.

She stared directly at the darkened window and slowly dragged her thumb across her throat.

A promise.

Dante should have dismissed her as a grieving woman searching for somewhere to place her rage.

Instead, something dark and unfamiliar awakened inside him.

He lowered the window.

Enzo swore beneath his breath.

Alessia froze when Dante’s face appeared behind the glass. Fear flickered in her amber eyes, but she refused to step back.

“Someday,” she called through the storm, “I’m going to kill you.”

Dante studied the woman who had just promised him death.

Beautiful. Furious. Untouchable.

He should have told her the truth about Gabriel. He should have warned her about Luca and taken her somewhere beyond her father’s reach.

But Luca was watching from the grave.

If Dante revealed that he knew anything, Alessia would become a threat her father could not afford to leave alive.

So Dante accepted her hatred.

He would carry it until he could prove the truth.

Perhaps he would carry it forever.

Dante looked into Alessia’s eyes and allowed himself a slow, cold smile.

“I’ll be waiting.”

He raised the window and ordered Enzo to drive.

As the cemetery disappeared behind them, Dante glanced at the rain-covered mirror.

Alessia remained at the gates, watching him leave.

Neither of them knew that the promise made beside Gabriel’s grave would bind their families together.

Neither knew it would begin with vengeance, be sealed through marriage and nearly drown the city in blood.

Dante knew only one thing.

Whatever waited for them, he would be ready