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The chapel of ghosts
Last Updated:
2025-06-14 00:53:49
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Vows of sin The chapel of ghosts
Alessia’s POVThe chapel doors loomed before her like the mouth of a sleeping beast.Alessia stood there for a long moment, listening to the quiet hum of midnight pressing in on the estate. The guards had vanished—whether by Dante’s command or by design, she didn’t know. But tonight wasn’t about the guards. Or even the Moretti name.Tonight was about truth.Her palms were slick despite the cool air. The locket at her throat—a relic from her mother—felt heavier than usual. Almost as if Vittoria Romano’s spirit had followed her here, bearing silent witness.You asked for this, she reminded herself.The truth. All of it.No more shadows. No more illusions.Her heart pounded as she pushed open the ancient doors.The chapel was smaller than she remembered. Stone arches curved overhead like ribcages. Tall, narrow windows let in slivers of moonlight that cut across the dusty air. The scent of incense and old wood clung to the space like forgotten prayers.And there he was.Dante.He stood at
Vows of sin A queen’s ultimatum
Alessia’s POVThe marble floors echoed beneath her heels as Alessia stormed down the corridor, her pulse hammering louder than the click of her stilettos. Behind her, the heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off Dante’s voice calling her name.She couldn’t breathe in that room anymore.Not after what he had said. Not after what Catalina had revealed.The truth was bleeding from every corner of the empire — and she stood at the center of it, drowning in lies disguised as protection.He had tried to protect her with silence. But silence was its own kind of violence.She stopped abruptly near the end of the private west wing, her fingers trembling as she gripped the polished wooden railing overlooking the estate grounds. From here, she could see the sea, black and endless under the moonlight, mocking her with its freedom.She heard him before she saw him.Dante.His steps were slow, measured, as if approaching a wild animal. And perhaps, in this moment, that’s exactly what she was — cornere
Vows of sin Checkmate in blood
Time fractured into seconds.One heartbeat.One bullet.One scream.Dante moved faster than anyone could see. He twisted, pulling Alessia behind him as the shot rang out—and took the bullet straight through the side.He didn’t fall.Didn’t scream.He just turned.The look in his eyes when he faced Giordano Romano was not pain. It was annihilation.“I warned you,” Dante growled, voice low and terrible. “You don’t touch what’s mine.”Alessia’s hands were already blood-slicked, pressed desperately to Dante’s side. “No, no, no—don’t you dare fall.”“I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth, even as warmth soaked through his shirt. “He missed the heart.”“He aimed for it,” she hissed, eyes blazing.She stood beside him, fury crackling like lightning in her veins. This wasn’t the Alessia who played politics. This was the one born from war—sharp, dangerous, untamable.Giordano’s smug expression faltered.Elio took advantage of the hesitation.In a blink, the older Marcello twisted, slamming
Vows of sin Shadows
Alessia’s eyes blinked open to darkness so complete it pressed against her skin like a suffocating cloak. The cold bit through her thin blouse, and rough chains tightened around her wrists, rattling with every breath and movement. Panic clawed at her chest for a moment, but she forced it down. She had faced worse—far worse—and survived.A faint glimmer of candlelight flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the cellar she’d been thrown into. The stale air smelled of damp earth and rot. Somewhere above, muffled footsteps echoed, deliberate and slow.“Marco,” Alessia whispered, the name tasting like ash on her tongue.He stepped into the light, the cruel smirk still etched on his sharp features. His eyes glittered with cold amusement, but behind it was something darker—years of bitterness and vengeance.“So glad you remember me,” Marco said softly, circling her like a predator stalking wounded prey. “You thought your alliances would protect you, your fri
Vows of sin Dangerous
The ruins of the Marcello estate were still smoldering when dawn bled into the sky, casting a muted orange glow over shattered marble and twisted iron. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the sharp tang of blood.Alessia sat on the cold stone floor of the hidden service tunnel, her fingers trembling as they pressed against Dante’s wound. His breathing was ragged but steady—for now. Her own pulse hammered in her ears louder than the distant sirens that were beginning to wail.Elio paced near the tunnel entrance, eyes dark with frustration and fear. “We can’t stay here much longer,” he muttered, glancing toward the estate’s ruined façade. “More of Dante’s men are coming, and the Council… they’ll be relentless.”Alessia’s gaze never left Dante’s face. The stoic mask he wore cracked slightly when his fingers twitched in her palm. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the storm inside—pain, regret, but fierce resolve. “Alessia…” His voice was a harsh rasp, but there was someth
Vows of sin Echoes of gunshots
The echo of the gunshot still rippled through the crumbling ruins, its harsh crack carving silence from the chaos. Dust hung thick in the air, settling like a shroud over broken glass and shattered stone.Alessia’s breath hitched, caught in her throat as the woman’s cold eyes locked onto her again, the barrel of the gun unwavering. Time seemed to slow, the seconds stretching into agonizing eternity.Dante’s reaction was instantaneous—a powerful surge of protective instinct that propelled him forward. He shoved Alessia behind him with brutal force, taking the bullet square in the shoulder. The searing pain exploded through him, sharp and unrelenting, but he barely flinched.His jaw clenched, lips pressed into a grim line. The crimson bloom spreading beneath his shirt was a silent testament to his resolve.The woman sneered, confidence unshaken, weapon poised for another shot. But before she could squeeze the trigger, a low, guttural roar tore through the air—primal, fierce, and utterly
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