The Silence Of His Vows

LUNA POV:

The study smells of cigars and old leather.

I stand in the center of the room, hands clasped in front of me, eyes fixed on the Persian rug beneath my feet. My father sits behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled, watching me the way someone might appraise livestock.

I don’t look up. I learned years ago that looking up is dangerous.

The silence stretches. He’s good at that, using quiet as a weapon, letting it press down until the air feels too thick to breathe.

Finally, he speaks.

“Vincenzo Moretti has accepted my proposal.”

My breath catches. My fingers tighten against each other until my knuckles go white.

“You’ll be married within the month,” Father continues, his tone conversational. Like he’s discussing the weather. “The contracts are being finalized. The alliance will secure our family’s position for the next generation.”

No. No, please.

He stands and walks around the desk slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

“You should be grateful, Luna. Moretti is one of the most powerful men in the region. Wealthy. Connected. He could have chosen any woman.” He stops in front of me. “But he chose you.”

Vincenzo Moretti is sixty-two years old. I met him once. Saw the way his eyes crawled over me. The way his smile stretched too wide, too hungry.

My hands start trembling.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes up. Father’s expression is warm, affectionate. The mask he wears so perfectly.

“I know you’re nervous,” he says gently, reaching out to cup my cheek. “But this is what’s best for you. For all of us.”

His thumb strokes my skin. To anyone watching, it would look tender.

Then his grip tightens. His fingers dig into my jaw, forcing my head up higher.

“You will smile when you see him,” he says softly. “You will be grateful. You will be the perfect bride. Do you understand?”

Tears burn behind my eyes. I try to nod, but his grip holds me still.

“I can’t hear you, Luna.”

The words are a knife twisting in my chest. He knows I can’t speak. He’s the reason I can’t speak.

A tear slips free.

His expression hardens. “Don’t you dare cry.”

He releases my jaw with a sharp motion. I stumble back, catching myself before I fall.

“You have everything,” he says, voice rising now. “Wealth. Beauty. Protection. And you stand here crying like some pathetic child.”

He turns away, pacing to the window. “Your mother was weak too. Look where that got her.”

The mention of my mother sends ice through my veins.

He spins back, eyes blazing. “If you embarrass me in front of Moretti, if you show even a hint of resistance…”

He crosses the space between us in two strides and grabs my arm. His fingers bruise.

“I will lock you in the cellar until the wedding day. Do we understand each other?”

I nod frantically, tears streaming down my face now.

“Good.” He releases me and steps back, smoothing his jacket.

Just like that, his expression shifts. Back to warmth, back to the loving father the world believes he is.

“Now go clean yourself up. You look like a mess.” He smiles. “And remember, cara mia. I’m doing this because I love you.”

I turn and run.

I barely make it to the grand foyer before my legs give out.

I press my back against the wall near the staircase, one hand clutching my chest as I try to force air into my lungs. My whole body shakes. My jaw aches where his fingers dug in.

Married. Within the month. To Moretti.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

I close my eyes, fighting the panic clawing its way up. I need to breathe. Need to be still.

But my hands won’t stop trembling.

The sharp click of footsteps echoes across the marble floor.

My eyes snap open.

Dante Ferrara emerges from the hallway. Thirty-seven, lean, with dark eyes that never stop watching.

He sees me immediately.

His head tilts. A slow smile spreads across his face.

Terror floods my veins. Cold and absolute. Not the calculated fear my father inspires. This is different. This is visceral.

Dante terrifies me in a way nothing else does.

He walks toward me. Slow. Deliberate.

I press harder against the wall, trying to disappear into the stone.

He stops close. Too close. I can smell his cologne. Metallic, expensive, suffocating.

“Luna,” he murmurs, voice smooth and empty. “Trembling already? The Don just told you the good news, didn’t he?”

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

He leans in slightly, his gaze crawling over my face, lingering on the tear tracks still wet on my cheeks.

“You should be happy,” he says softly. “Moretti is… generous with his wives. Most of them, anyway.”

His hand rises slowly.

I flinch violently, shoulders hunching, preparing for impact.

But he doesn’t touch me. His fingers curl near my temple, hovering beside the wall.

“Still so obedient,” he whispers. “Like a frightened little doll.”

His knuckle scrapes the plaster beside my ear. A deliberate sound that sends ice down my spine.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, smile widening. “Even after the wedding, the family will keep watch over you. I’ll make sure of it. Personally.”

The threat is unmistakable.

My breath comes in shallow, silent gasps. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

Dante finally lowers his hand, his gaze holding mine for one agonizing moment.

“Run along now,” he says. “You wouldn’t want to keep your future husband waiting.”

He steps back, giving me just enough space to move.

I don’t walk. I run.

I bolt up the staircase, legs shaking, heart hammering so hard I think it might burst through my ribs. I don’t stop until I reach my room, slamming the door behind me and locking it with trembling fingers.

I press my back against the door and slide down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.

Silent sobs shake my body.

Married. Moretti. Dante watching.

There’s no escape.

I sit there in the dark, trying to calm my breathing, trying to stop shaking.

Then I feel it.

That prickling sensation on the back of my neck. The weight of unseen eyes.

I look up at the window. The curtains are drawn, but something happens.

A shadow moves.

Just a flicker. Quick enough that I almost miss it.

My heart stops.

I stare at the window, barely breathing.

Nothing.

Just darkness.

But the feeling doesn’t go away.

Someone is watching me.

And somehow, I know this is only the beginning.