The Devil's Vow

Flasback

Age 14

The warehouse stank of piss and gun oil. Carlo Lombardi had the traitor on his knees, the man's face a ruined mess of blood and broken teeth.

I watched from the shadows, my knuckles white around the pipe.

"Last chance," Carlo growled. "Who gave the order?"

The traitor spat at my feet. "Orphaned rat," he choked out. "You'll die just like your..."

The pipe was in my hands before I realized I'd moved.

The first swing made a wet thunk. The second cracked bone. I didn't stop until his skull was pulp and my arms burned.

Carlo grabbed my wrist, his grip iron tight.

"Basta." 

Blood dripped from the pipe. From my hands. From the ceiling, it seemed.

Carlo studied me with those black eyes. He didn't smile. Didn't praise. Just nodded once.

All I heard was my father's last warning, whispered in my ear the night before they killed him:

"Trust is a bullet to the brain, figlio. Even roses have thorns."

I wiped my face with my sleeve. Left a red streak across my cheek.

This was my vow now. Find them. Kill them all.

Present

The Moretti's front door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the rose bushes. Inside, Sophia's screams still echoed through the mansion, her father's panicked shouts chasing after her.

I slid into the Bentley's leather seat, the engine already purring.

Enzo didn't even look up from his phone. "So. How'd the meet-the-parents dinner go?"

I slammed the door hard enough to make the suspension bounce. "She kneed me in the dick."

"Ah." He nodded sagely. "So she's the romantic type."

He leaned over, squinting. "Wait, is that my favorite tie wrapped around your..."

"Shut up." I ripped the silk off my bleeding forearm and threw it at him. "It's your fault anyway."

"My fault?" He clutched his chest like I'd stabbed him. "I told you not to lead with 'pack a bag, you're my prisoner now.' But no, Mr. Romance here..."

The pretzel bag exploded as I backhanded it. Salt rained down on the leather seats.

"Okay, okay." Enzo brushed crumbs off his slacks. "So we doing this the fun way or the boring way?"

I checked my watch. "How fast can you get to La Rosa Nera?"

The engine roared to life. "Faster if you don't bitch about my driving."

The streetlights flickered across the blood still drying on my knuckles. "How many guns they take?"

"All of them."

We peeled out just as another window shattered upstairs. Enzo put on the music that fucking pop music he loved.

"Change it or I break your fingers."

He grinned. "Promises, promises."

The Bentley screeched to a halt outside La Rosa Nera, its neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. Before the engine even cut, two shadows detached from the alleyway.

Luca stood like a carved statue, his usual silent menace. Beside him, Ricci Enzo's cousin and our best hackerwas typing furiously on a tablet.

"Took you fuckers long enough," Ricci said without looking up. "I already hacked the security feeds,I have the footage and ordered pizza."

The velvet curtains parted as we stepped into the casino. Roulette wheels spun, champagne flutes clinked, and somewhere a drunk tourist was losing his inheritance at blackjack.

Luca guided us past the high stakes tables to a private elevator. The descent took exactly twelve seconds.

Marco Bellucci sat handcuffed to a plush chair, his face a swollen mess, one eye sealed shut with blood. . A half empty bottle of Macallan his favorite, we'd checked sat untouched on the table.

"Dante!" He jerked against his restraints as I took the seat across from him. "I swear to Christ, I didn't know..."

I poured two fingers into a fresh glass. Pushed it toward him. You stole from me, yes?" 

I took a seat across from him, unbuttoning my cuffs. "Drink you're shaking."

Ricci, perched on a stool, tapped his tablet. The screen showed the security footage of Marco loading crates with two men in mask into a van.

“Who paid you?” I asked, mild.

Marco sobbed. “They’ll kill me...”

"Again," I said, sipping my drink. "Who took my guns?"

Marco gulped the whiskey. "I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't know they was yours!"

I sighed. "See, now you're lying to me."

Enzo tsked. "Bad move, Marco."

I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Let's try again. You're a smart guy. You knew exactly whose shipment you were skimming." My voice dropped. "So who told you to do it?"

Luca tossed me a silenced pistol. 

"Please," he sobbed. "I got kids "

"I know." I stood, pressing the barrel between his eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps. "That's why I gave you good chair."

I tool out my gun "Sixteen AK-74Us. Three crates of ammo." I sipped my drink. "You expect me to believe you moved that by your own will?"

Marco's chin trembled. "I—I just drove the truck! The Bratva boys at the docks"

"Ah." I set down my glass. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Luca leaned against the wall, flipping a butterfly knife. "See Marco, here's the thing. Army grade hardware? That's not some drunk Russian kid's side hustle."

"Dante, pozhaluysta," he begged, sweat dripping into his good eye. "They have my wife! Petrov's men took Anya and..."

I backhanded him. The crack echoed off the walls. "Viktor Petrov doesn't kidnap accountants' wives." My cufflink snagged on his split lip. "Try again."

Marco switched to English, words tumbling out between sobs: "Pavel and Yuri! They said...said Petrov would skin my girls alive if I didn't move the guns!"

Enzo chuckled from the shadows, polishing his knife. "And you believed the Russians would let you live after?" He tutted. "Marco, Marco..."

 "Petrov's pitbulls wanted my shipment. Why?" The glass trembled in Marco's bound hands. "D-docks. They're bringing in something big next Thursday. Needed your AKs as...as distraction."

Ricci's tablet lit up with security stills: Pavel's hulking frame by Marco's warehouse, Yuri's signature gold teeth glinting as he loaded crates.

I sipped my drink. "How many men?"

"Tw-twelve. Maybe twenty. My God, they'll kill..."

The silenced Beretta coughed once. Marco's forehead hit the table with a wet thud, vodka glass shattering on the floor.

I stood, straightening my cuffs. "Send Mrs. Bellucci a fruit basket."

Enzo snorted. "No fingers in a box this time?"

"We're not animals, we can be civilised" I said, heading for the elevator. 

"And Ricci?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Find out what's coming Thursday that's worth starting a war."

The elevator went up in silence 

"Call Luca's cleanup crew," I said, stepping into the casino's glittering chaos.

Ricci fell into step beside me, still typing. "Marco's widow gets the standard package? Flowers, pension, relocation?"

I adjusted my cuffs, remembering how Sophia's nails had left crescent moons in my wrist. "Double it. And find out everything about Petrov's Thursday shipment."

The night air hit my face as we exited, but all I could think about was the heat of Sophia's body pressed against mine when she fought me. The way her pulse had fluttered beneath my lips when I whispered my threat.

Enzo jingled the car keys. "Back to the compound?"

I slid into the Bentley, the leather still warm from where she'd sat earlier. "No. We're going back for what's mine."

The engine roared to life. Somewhere across the city, my future wife was probably barricading her bedroom door.

Good.

I like when my Bella fights back.