Twisted vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

Alessia’s POV I didn’t sleep. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even blink. Luca was gone. Taken. Swapped like some kind of currency in a war we never signed up for. And the real monsters? They wore suits and smiled from their pulpits. “I’m going after him,” I announced as the morning light started creeping through our shattered window. Nikolai didn’t put up a fight. He just asked, “Where?” I handed him the card Sofia had sketched out. It had a symbol, an address, and a seal of red wax. This led to a private estate owned by Cardinal Severi—way out in the countryside, hidden deep in some forest where justice didn’t seem to reach. “We can’t just charge in with guns blazing,” Rafael warned. “That’ll spark an international incident.” “He’s already declared war,” I snapped back. “I’m just responding.” I went alone. Not because I was strong, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else dying for me. The estate looked just like I imagined: tall iron gates, marble statues, and a

Alessia’s POV We set out at dawn. No more hiding. No more waiting for them to make the first move. We had the tapes. We had Sofia. And now, we had something they never saw coming: A map. Rafael pulled it from the church files and the encrypted archives we snagged from Severi’s servers. Beneath layers of fake charities and "restoration grants," there lay a tangled web of payments spread across Europe—Hungary, Spain, Malta. But every connection led back to one name: Archbishop Tomas Renaldi. “Who is he?” Luca asked. Rafael’s tone turned grim. “The banker of God.” Renaldi wasn’t just a clergyman. He was the Vatican’s Chief Financial Liaison. And according to the records? Every transfer to Project Salvage had his signature on it. He was the last gatekeeper. The man pulling the strings. We needed to act fast. Renaldi was set to speak at a conference in Geneva soon. A humanitarian summit. The irony was almost too thick to bear. “He’ll have protection,” Nikolai warne

Alessia’s POV It had been over a year since I last saw him. Not since the funeral. Not since that icy, rehearsed eulogy about "family values" and "protecting the De Luca name." But now… I was coming for him. Not as his daughter, but as the woman he couldn’t bury along with all his secrets. We found Arturo at his lakeside villa by Lake Como. Of course, he was there—hiding in luxury while the world burned down around him because of his sins. “I’ll go with you,” Nikolai offered. I shook my head. “If he sees you, he’ll twist it. He’ll make it seem like it's your influence. He needs to see me.” “Alessia—” I cut him off. “I need to finish this.” The guards let me through without a second thought. Of course they did. I was still a De Luca, still the daughter of the man who ruled countless lives from behind his luxurious silk curtains. He was in his study, pouring himself some scotch, acting like the world wasn’t falling apart. “You’ve come home,” he remarked, not even bothering to

Alessia’s POVThe silence that followed the confession felt heavier than any scream. It wasn’t just quiet—it was suffocating and thick, almost like a weight pressing down on my chest that wouldn’t budge. My mother looked pale, completely drained, and her eyes were glassy with tears that never really fell. Every crease on her face seemed etched deeper by shame, and she shrank into the chair as if uttering those words had taken away the last of her strength.I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even start to process the storm she’d set off with that one delicate sentence. Matteo wasn’t merely part of our family’s tragedy—he was Elena’s tragedy. Her love, her grief, and her broken secret. And the boy… her son. My nephew. Flesh and blood hidden in plain sight all along.I clutched the edge of the table, my nails digging into the wood as I tried to keep myself steady in a room that suddenly felt like a whirlwind of memories. When I finally spoke, my voice cracked, sounding like som

Alessia’s POV The coordinates guided us to a quiet square in Florence. Tourists strolled about. Cameras snapped pictures. Life thrived up top. But down below… my sister had hidden her last secret. Matteo drove us at dawn. Quiet. Intent. The nearer we got, the more my chest tightened. Elena’s words rang in my ears: "He isn’t the enemy. Trust him." If these tapes cleared Nikolai, we might have hope. But if they condemned him? I wasn’t sure what would be left of me. We pulled up next to an old church, its walls weathered with age. The coordinates led us to the crypt. "Ready?" Matteo asked. I nodded, even though every nerve in me was on high alert. Inside the Crypt Dust covered everything. Stone stairs twisted downward, swallowing the light. My flashlight flickered over marble tombs and shattered plaques. At the bottom of the stairs, a rusty iron gate blocked our way. Matteo crouched down, quickly picking the lock with practiced ease. Click. The gate creaked ope