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RULES

Author: Kammy
last update Last Updated: 2025-05-09 00:23:16

BLOOD AND VOWS

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CHAPTER FIVE

RULES OF THE HOUSE

“You can cage a lion, but you can’t stop it from remembering the hunt.”

---

Emilia woke before the sun.

The room was still wrapped in shadows, the heavy curtains drawn tight. She lay still for a moment, listening. No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint hum of the security system and the echo of her heartbeat.

Alessio’s chair was empty. He hadn’t come back after their quiet standoff the night before. That didn’t surprise her. He didn’t seem like the type to sleep much—or need to.

She sat up slowly, her mind already ticking. New life. New territory. New rules.

Time to learn them.

---

The estate’s east wing was off-limits.

She’d heard it in the hallway whispers. She’d seen the locked doors. A whole section of the mansion sealed like a crime scene.

So of course, that’s where she went first.

The hallway was quiet. Guards stationed far enough away to be out of sight, but close enough to intervene if she pushed too hard.

She tested a door. Locked.

Another. Same.

The third had a keypad.

Interesting.

She stared at it, wondering what kind of secrets Alessio kept behind steel and silence. Family archives? Weapons? Enemies?

“Looking for something?”

She turned.

Alessio stood ten feet away, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled, jaw set. Calm, but alert. Like he’d been watching the whole time.

“I was exploring,” she said coolly.

“You were trespassing.”

She crossed her arms. “Didn’t know curiosity was illegal.”

“In this house,” he said, stepping closer, “everything has a consequence.”

They were inches apart now. His voice dropped.

“I don’t care if you hate me. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re untouchable.”

Emilia didn’t flinch. “I don’t make mistakes. I make moves.”

He stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he stepped back.

“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “You’re here because it keeps two families from going to war. You’re not my partner. You’re not my queen. You’re leverage. And if you try to play me—”

“I won’t have to,” she cut in. “You’re already losing pieces.”

A long silence.

Then he chuckled—low and humorless.

“You think you know how this works?”

“I grew up in it.”

“You grew up behind gates, under guard, protected by your father’s last name. This—” he gestured around them, “—isn’t protection. It’s survival. Day to day. Quiet and brutal.”

She met his gaze. “Then teach me.”

---

They moved into a rhythm after that.

Not soft. Not warm. But something close to manageable.

He spent his mornings in the underground garage, training with his men. She spent hers in the library or garden, learning the layout, noting who watched her, who underestimated her.

They didn’t eat together. They didn’t speak unless necessary. But the air between them shifted.

One morning, she found a knife missing from her nightstand.

She searched everywhere. Nothing.

The next night, it reappeared—sharpened.

A message, again.

---

By the end of the week, Emilia knew more than most would’ve guessed.

She knew the names of every man in Alessio’s inner circle. She knew which guards were loyal and which were just well-paid. She knew that the Moretti family ran three shipping fronts, two casinos, and one underground network no one dared name aloud.

And she knew this: Alessio was being watched.

Not just by her.

By someone inside.

---

The first time they sat across from each other at dinner, it wasn’t planned.

She entered the dining room out of routine. He was already there, shirt sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck.

She froze. He looked up.

“Didn’t realize this seat was claimed,” she said.

He motioned to the chair opposite. “It’s not. Sit.”

She did.

For a while, they ate in silence.

Then, quietly: “You don’t ask questions,” he said.

“I get more answers without them.”

He studied her. “That’s dangerous.”

“So am I.”

---

He leaned back in his chair.

“I’ve known a lot of women. Most wanted the crown, the money, the blood. You want something else.”

“I want control.”

“And what happens when you get it?”

“I stop answering to men like you.”

Something dark crossed his expression. “Then you’re in the wrong house.”

“No,” she said, finishing her wine. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

---

That night, he didn’t sleep in the chair.

He slept on the couch near the fireplace.

Close enough to watch her.

Far enough to remind her of the distance between survival and trust.

---

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