All Chapters of The Silence Of His Vows: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The cold was not just in the air; it came from the stone. It rose from the massive, polished marble floor, climbed the high velvet curtains, and settled deep into Luna Vitiello’s bones. This chill was the permanent temperature of extreme wealth, of absolute power, and of lifelong, crushing fear. This house was a prison built entirely of expensive silence.Luna stood perfectly still near the bottom of the grand staircase, her back pressed flat against the cool wall, trying to make her small body disappear into the fancy carvings and intricate decorations. Her body was tuned to the strict, unspoken rules of survival here: stillness was safety, and any quick movement drew attention, and attention brought the harsh scrutiny she desperately avoided. At nineteen, her posture was one of chronic, painful apprehension.Her face, untouched by the hard, knowing look of most women her age, was hidden behind a passive resignation. Her skin was pale, stretched delicately over soft, rounded features

The relative quiet of the afternoon was shattered not by an explosion, but by a sudden, brutal disruption of the atmosphere. Luna was seated in the library, a vast, imposing room where the thick walls usually offered a deceptive sense of insulation. Rocco Santini, her primary, trusted bodyguard, stood near the towering arched doorway, his posture rigid, his loyalty a fragile barrier between her and the volatile world outside.The quiet routine was suddenly poisoned. The low hum of the city traffic, usually a constant background drone, abruptly stopped. Rocco felt the shift instantly. His body tensed, the subtle movement the only warning Luna received. His hand dropped to grip the sidearm holstered beneath his jacket.Luna felt the change physically, a prickling coldness that traveled from her scalp down her spine. The fear was immediate and absolute. Her mind screamed Something is wrong! but the paralyzing grip of her trauma was already closing off her response. She remained frozen in

The grand dining hall, a cavernous space where every surface reflected light from a massive crystal chandelier, felt like a high-stakes arena. It was a room designed for controlled spectacle, but tonight, it was simply the stage for the newest, most terrifying element of Luna’s gilded prison: Damon Volkov. His presence was not an addition to the room's atmosphere; it was a total, oppressive replacement. The usual nervous chatter of house staff and the light conversation of the Don had been entirely superseded by the profound stillness Volkov carried. He had claimed the corner nearest the main exit, a vantage point that gave him a clear view of the entire table and the full extent of Luna’s small, still form. He stood, a monumental silhouette of black tailoring and cold stone, his arms loose at his sides, his posture effortlessly communicating a clinical, unchallengeable authority. Every line of his body spoke of protocol and flawless, dispassionate efficiency. Luna sat at the table,

The afternoon settled over the Vitiello mansion like a shroud, heavy and silent. Luna had been confined to the small, formal library adjoining the Don’s study for hours, a direct result of Volkov’s newly imposed protocol. The room, usually a comfort, felt exposed, a waiting room for the next, inevitable command. Volkov did not sit, did not read, and did not occupy himself with any task other than absolute vigilance. He stood near the entrance, a fortress of quiet authority, his stillness a deliberate, terrifying display of patience. Luna watched him from the periphery of her vision, her body locked into a state of hyper-awareness. The crushing fear from the morning’s incident, the sound of the shattering porcelain and the cold, dominant rumble of his voice, was still sharp in her memory. She was realizing, with bone-deep clarity, that her new protector was a danger far more structured and permanent than the volatile, unpredictable malice of Dante. Dante inflicted cruelty for pleasure;

The suffocating atmosphere of the Vitiello mansion had metastasized, transforming from a gilded prison into a pressure cooker. The tension no longer came from the external threats the Don feared, but from the internal, unspoken war waged between the men within the walls, with Luna trapped precisely in the middle. Damon Volkov's presence had been established as an absolute, cold force, but absolute forces attract equal and opposite resistance.Dante Bellomo, the Don's calculating right-hand man, was Volkov's immovable obstacle. His resentment had curdled into a dangerous game. Since Volkov's arrival, Dante had been checked, subtly, silently, yet humiliatingly, three times. He viewed Luna not merely as a prize, but as the weakest point in Volkov's rigid armor, and he was determined to prove that the new protector's cold protocol could not withstand the heat of true, insidious cruelty.The confrontation was staged, not in a grand hall, but in the sterile quiet of the mansion's secondary