All Chapters of Vows of sin: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Smoke lingered in the air, acrid and clinging to Alessia’s lungs like a warning she couldn’t shake. The apartment was a wreck—furniture overturned, glass shattered, blood staining the floor in angry smears. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they were too late. Always too late.She knelt beside Dante, pressing a towel to the gash at his temple. His breathing was ragged but steady, jaw clenched tight as if sheer will was holding him together.“You’re bleeding too much,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from his face.“I’ve had worse,” he grunted, trying to sit up.“Don’t be a damn hero, Moretti.”His eyes flicked to hers, and despite the pain, the corner of his mouth curved in a crooked smirk. “That’s rich—coming from you.”Alessia didn’t smile. Couldn’t. Her fingers trembled as she pressed harder on the wound. The sight of him like this—bloodied, bruised—rattled something in her. But beneath the fear, something else stirred: fire. Not panic. Not helplessness. Something sharper. Venge

Alessia’s POVThe silk blouse clung to her skin like armor—not soft, not gentle. Just deceptive. She tightened the cuff around her wrist and stared at herself in the mirror, trying to recognize the woman looking back.There were traces of her mother in the arch of her brow, the defiance in her jawline. But the eyes—those were her own. Hardened. Hunted. Hungry.Not for power.For justice.Eva’s voice rang behind her like a whisper trying not to break. “Do you have to go alone?”Alessia turned, the child’s small figure curled in the oversized armchair. One of Dante’s jackets draped over her like a blanket, swallowed in safety he could never promise.Alessia walked over, kneeling so they were eye-level. “This isn’t your fight, cucciola.”Eva’s lips trembled. “But it’s about my mama. And you said we were family now.”God, she wished she could say no. Could promise fairy tales and protection. But Eva had already lost too much for lies.Alessia reached into her pocket and pulled out a silve

Alessia’s POVThe morning sun cut through the curtains like a blade.Alessia sat on the edge of Dante’s bed, wrapped in nothing but silence and his black silk robe. The scent of him clung to the fabric—cedarwood, smoke, and something darker. It should’ve comforted her. Instead, it made her feel raw.Like all the pieces she’d carefully glued together were splintering again.But she didn’t cry.There were no tears left.Last night I had taken everything. And still, she’d survived.She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Bruised cheek. Split lip. Eyes hollowed by rage and revelation.Her mother had died trying to save her. Giordano had helped kill her. And Selene… Selene had looked her in the eyes with that sickening calm and confessed like it was nothing.Like Alessia’s entire life was just collateral damage in her bid for power.She pressed a hand to her chest.Her heartbeat was steady.Too steady.She didn’t feel broken.She felt sharp.Like the grief had forged her into somethin

Giordano’s POVThey were coming for him.He could feel it deep in the pit of his gut — a cold, relentless warning he once trusted without question. That gnawing ache before a kill. Before a betrayal.And Giordano had been both predator and prey.The plane touched down in Prague under a false name, a carefully crafted mask stitched into every forged document he carried. He stepped off the jet wearing a dark coat pulled tight against the chill and sunglasses that hid the bruised shadows beneath his eyes. His walk was no longer the slow, deliberate glide of a man who commanded fear and respect. Now it was hurried and paranoid. Each step echoed uncertainty. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, stalking him. Every stranger’s glance lingered a moment too long, as if they saw through the mask.He was no longer the man who ruled entire corridors of power with a single nod. He was a hunted dog, trapped in the ruins of his own making.All because of her.Alessia Romano.He never should have underes

Alessia’s POVThe morning light was sharper now — less forgiving. It sliced through the heavy curtains and burned the edges of my thoughts. The message had come early, delivered like a dagger hidden in a whisper: She’s still watching.I stared at the screen long after the notification faded. A blurry photo. A shadow in the background. A ghost I thought I’d buried.But ghosts don’t die.They linger. They wait.And they strike when you least expect it.Dante was across the room, reviewing plans for the next council meeting. His face was calm — the mask he wore so well. But I could see the tension behind his eyes. The way his fingers tightened around the tablet. The way his jaw clenched just enough to bleed worry.I swallowed the knot in my throat.“Who is she?” I asked quietly, not trusting my voice to be steady.“No one we’ve identified yet,” Dante said, stepping closer. “But whoever she is, she’s dangerous. And patient.”I nodded, the cold weight settling in my chest.“We’ve made enem