All Chapters of Vows of sin: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Alessia’s POVThe Moretti estate was cloaked in silence, but nothing about this place ever truly felt still. Every polished marble floor, every gilded wall, every chandelier that glinted like diamonds in the dark—it all felt like a stage for something unspeakable.She was the leading actress in a performance she never agreed to.Alessia stood in front of the tall mirror in her bedroom, one of many that Dante had decorated with sinful luxury. Red silk clung to her curves like a second skin, dipping low on her back and cutting high on her thigh. She stared at her reflection, at the woman she barely recognized anymore.This was the girl they feared?The one he married out of strategy… or spite?The one who, despite everything, now ached to be touched by the devil himself?There was a knock—no. A click.The door opened without warning.Her pulse reacted before her head could. Dante. He never knocked.He never had to.He stood there in a black button-up shirt with the top undone, sleeves r

The rain hadn’t stopped since morning—like the gods themselves were mourning a sin that hadn’t yet been committed.Alessia stood at the window of the Moretti estate’s west wing, arms crossed, watching droplets race down the glass like a silent countdown. Every nerve in her body buzzed with restlessness. She had spent the last three nights in Dante’s mansion—his domain—and yet he remained a ghost. No touches. No glances. Just long silences and the echo of temptation that trailed behind whenever he entered and left a room.It was driving her mad.She wasn’t naïve. She understood the rules of this game. This wasn’t a marriage of love—it was a contract wrapped in velvet and laced with poison. Still, Dante’s avoidance felt strategic. Calculated. And that infuriated her more than she cared to admit.The heavy door creaked open behind her.She didn’t turn. “Come to check if I’ve escaped?”“No.” Dante’s voice was a silk whip. “If you were going to run, you would’ve done it by now.”Her spine

Alessia’s POVThe rain felt different after a gunshot.Colder. Thicker. Like it was trying to wash away blood that hadn’t yet spilled.Alessia’s hands trembled against the soaked gravel as she tried to steady her breath. Her heart still thundered from the way Dante had thrown himself over her—like her life meant something. Like it belonged to him.The shot had nearly ended it all. One second slower and she’d be sprawled beneath a tombstone, not on the chapel steps.But what chilled her more than the near-death experience was the serpent.That ring. That mark. That name she hadn’t spoken aloud in years.Lorenzo Romano.Her mother’s brother. A ghost. A myth. A man her father had sworn was killed in a cartel crossfire two decades ago.But that had been a lie, hadn’t it?Just like everything else.Dante crouched beside her now, eyes sharp, body still braced for danger. She could see the tension radiating off him—barely leashed violence just beneath the surface.“I need you to say it again

Dante’s POVThere’s a particular kind of silence that follows violence. It’s not peace. It’s pressure—an invisible weight choking the air. The moment I entered the penthouse and felt it wrap around me, I knew something was wrong.The lights were still on. A glass of wine, untouched, sat on the coffee table. The scent of Alessia’s perfume lingered—sharp, floral, haunting. But the woman herself? Gone.“Alessia?” I called, voice low, dangerous.Nothing.I moved fast, checking every room, corners, closets. She wasn’t here. Not in the bedroom, not on the balcony. Her phone sat on the counter, screen cracked. That alone told me everything I needed to know.Alessia never left without it. She never left without letting me know.A storm rose inside me—rage and dread locked in a lethal dance. I’d felt this once before, years ago, when I held Claudia’s bloodied dress in my hands after she was taken.History, it seemed, had a sick sense of humor.I returned to the bedroom and found the drawer of

Dante’s POVThe hospital room was too quiet.The soft beep of machines. The occasional shuffle of nurses. The sterile scent of antiseptic and forced calm.But beneath it all, I felt the burn in my bones. Not from the fractures or bruises—no, that was just pain. What twisted deeper was rage. A simmering, venomous fury that clawed at the inside of my ribs like a caged animal.Lorenzo was dead. But the silence told me it wasn’t over.I could still feel his fingerprints—on the explosion, on the attack, on the chaos that followed. You don’t build a monster like Lorenzo without giving it backup plans. And he’d never work alone. Someone else had lit the match. Someone was still feeding the fire.And until I found them, no one I loved was safe.Especially Alessia.The door creaked open softly. My hand instinctively went to the button beneath the bed—panic a second nature now—but then I saw her. Her silhouette in the doorway, backlit by the hall light.Alessia.She wore a simple black sweater