Semua Bab Vows of sin: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Alessia’s POVThe Marcello estate smelled like jasmine and ash. A paradox — much like the alliance being born within its walls.Alessia sat beneath the carved stone archway of the garden terrace, her fingers curled around a crystal glass of blood-red wine. Moonlight shimmered across the reflecting pool, making it hard to tell what was real and what was illusion.Across from her, Elio Marcello leaned forward with the smile of a man who’d survived too many betrayals to give trust lightly — or for free.“You really think Dante will let this stand?” he asked, voice smooth but laced with challenge.Alessia sipped her wine. “Dante let too many things stand. That’s the problem.”A flicker of something crossed Elio’s eyes — amusement, perhaps admiration. “And what is this alliance, then? Vengeance? Or preservation?”“Both,” she said. “I’m not naive enough to think I can win this war without fire. But I won’t burn for someone else’s sins anymore.”Elio tilted his head. “And what do you want fr

The world did not yet know it, but Rome had begun to bleed.Far from the shadows of Dante Moretti’s empire and the ruins of the Marcello estate, a new storm was brewing—silent, patient, and deadly. In the vaulted crypt beneath Geneva, surrounded by sealed documents and codes older than the Council itself, the Romanos had returned from the grave.Not just to haunt.But to reign.Geneva – Council VaultsGiordano Romano moved like a man reborn, the years in hiding etched into the lines of his face, not with weakness, but with fury sharpened into resolve.His daughter stood beside him, a blade wrapped in silk. Alessia had lost her innocence, her love, and the home she once cherished—but in their place, she had gained purpose. Vengeance was no longer her weapon.It was her religion.“You’re certain these are the originals?” she asked, eyes fixed on the black-sealed files resting on the steel table.Giordano nodded. “Unaltered. Every record of the Council’s bribes, assassinations, and betra

Darkness had a sound.It wasn’t silence—it was muffled heartbeats, the slow drip of blood, and the distant groan of stone settling above.Alessia woke in pieces. Her shoulder throbbed, her lungs ached, and dust clung to her lashes like ash. The world tilted sideways as she struggled upright.She was underground.Alone.Again.Except…not entirely.There was a presence. Not Dante. Not Elio. Not even the hunters.Something older.Something watching.She blinked through the shadows, and the scent of incense and iron filled her nose. It was a vault, but not the kind built by any mafia family. This place predated them—etched in runes, marked by forgotten names. A shrine, or a tomb.Her fingers brushed the floor. Smooth stone. Streaked with blood.Her blood.Footsteps echoed.She turned sharply—pain flaring down her arm—but she kept her knife in hand.The woman from before stepped into view, unbothered by the collapse that had buried them both.“Still breathing,” the stranger said, almost ad

Giordano Romano’s POVHe watched the chapel burn from the observation tower of the abandoned bell keep—his bell keep. Hidden beneath layers of loyalty and old stone, it had survived every purge and every regime change. Just like him.Giordano Romano was not a man easily buried.The flames danced in the distance, painting the hillsides crimson. Smoke curled like serpents toward the heavens. A fitting image, he thought. His resurrection deserved a divine audience.“You should be dead,” his lieutenant muttered beside him, disbelief still etched into every word.Giordano didn’t turn to look at him. “So should a lot of things. Like honor. Like peace.”He finally faced the man. “And yet here we are.”The lieutenant swallowed. “And the girl?”Giordano’s mouth curved into a cruel smirk. “My daughter? Oh, she’ll survive.”He tapped the detonator again, even though the trigger had long since done its job.“I didn’t raise her to be soft. Even when I wasn’t raising her directly.”There it was—som

Omniscient POVThe candlelight flickered like the pulse in Alessia’s throat—erratic, frantic, disbelieving.Giordano stepped forward from the shadows, his tailored suit untouched by the ruin of the monastery around him. The years had changed him, yes. More lines around the eyes, more cold in his gaze. But the smirk was the same. The arrogance. The quiet, suffocating certainty that the world would always bend to his will.“I watched you die,” Dante said, voice cold. “I stood over your body.”“And yet here I stand,” Giordano replied. “Resurrection suits me, doesn’t it?”Alessia couldn’t take her eyes off the girl—the mirror. She looked barely twenty. Slighter, wirier, but with the same fire in her stare. A storm waiting for a trigger.“You’re lying,” Alessia said quietly. “This is a trick.”“Is it?” the girl asked. “Tell me you don’t feel it. That pull in your blood. I’m not your enemy, Alessia. I’m your sister.”Giordano stepped between them, his hands clasped behind his back. “She was