Vow Of Silence Rules Novels & Stories

A laugh escaped her lips, the kind that bubbled out like a child’s joy. Samarth, however, didn’t look up. He watched her. The way her lashes curled upward, the way light caught the curve of her cheek, the way her fingers clutched slightly at her veil as though overwhelmed — he watched as though the world itself had stopped moving. When it was her turn, she took the second ring in her trembling fingers. She met his gaze and, with a breath that calmed her nerves, gently slid the ring onto his finger. “I have no vow more sacred than this,” she whispered. “To love you, stand beside you, rise with you and give you support when things turn against us.”

He obeyed. That was the rule. That was the oath. The screams came again. Softer now. Hoarse from use. Then a silence. Not peace. Not rest. Just absence. Macro exhaled. Slowly. Carefully. As if afraid the noise might somehow be heard. He didn't look at the door. Because if he did—if he let himself care too much—he'd break the rule. ‘Although I think I already broke that.’ Observe. Report. Do not engage.

Thanks to her connections, it had been approved fast. After lunch, we split. Turning a corner, I spotted Ethan, who still rocked all black. He was standing there like a model. Some things were just unavoidable. I took a breath and walked up with a poker face. "You're here to hit the courthouse with me?" I asked. That shut down whatever he had planned to say. After a pause, he mumbled, "I get you hate me. I've been thinking a lot these days, realizing my failure. You can hit me or yell at me as you like. I won't complain. Just cool off."

Letting his fingers brush along my collarbone. “There are three rules.” I looked up. “Yes, Mr. Vale?” His eyes darkened. “Rule one,” he said, lifting the gold collar from a side table and clicking it shut around my throat. “You do not speak unless spoken to. You are to be seen. Heard only when I want it.” My breath caught at the soft click of the lock. It sat snug against my neck—heavy and hot. “Rule two: You will keep your body bare and ready for use whenever I call. Whether we’re alone or not.”

Vito's POV: You have one rule as a member of the Mafia; never break Omerta. They can whatever the fuck they want with you or torture you until blood runs out from your ears, but you do not break Omerta. You bleed in silence, you do not give up your family, you do not say a word about what happens within the organization, and you take the pain like a fucking man.

“Rule one: You do not discuss anything you see here with anyone. Not friends. Not family. Not coworkers. Not ‘anonymous accounts.’ Anyone.” “I won’t,” I said. “Rule two,” he continued, “you do not take photos. You do not record audio. Your phone remains in your bag, on silent, at all times.” “It already does,” I said. “Rule three: You do not initiate unnecessary conversation. If Mr. Wilder speaks to you, you may respond politely. You do not ask personal questions. You do not provide opinions about band matters. You do not become a confidante.” My mouth opened, then closed.

Assessed her. "I will try," Echo said quietly. "But I must warn you. The peaceful nothings are protective of certain knowledge. Certain truths. Certain secrets. They reveal what they believe should be revealed. They hide what they believe should remain hidden. They might not tell me. Might not share. Might not reveal. Even if they know. Even if they understand. Even if they could explain. They might choose silence. Might choose protection. Might choose to keep your secret. To honour your choice to forget. To respect your decision to erase. They might not tell me. Even if I ask. Even if I plead. Even if I demand. They might remain silent. They might protect you. They might honour your origina

I put my hands on my knees instead of the keys. If I start, I might not stop. And I promised Ava I’d rest my voice. I turn to the glass. He’s still there. “Ground rules for this room,” I say, loud enough for him to hear through the partially open door. He steps closer to the console window. “I thought you liked rules,” he says. “No,” I say. “I like *my* rules.” He inclines his head. “Let’s hear them,” he says. “One,” I say, ticking a finger up. “You don’t come in here without knocking. I don’t care whose name is on the deed. This is Switzerland. Neutral zone.”

"She... took... them." ​Silas stood up, his face reddening. "You’re speaking? After five years of silence, you break your vow for a Romanov brat? This is treason, Dante! The Treaty states—" ​"The Treaty is dead," I interrupted, stepping forward and slamming a leather folder onto the marble table. "And so is your leverage. Silas, you’ve been funneling three percent of the Moretti heroin trade into a private account in the Cayman Islands for six years. Account number ending in 9921. Correct?"

We try to come up with a solution for that problem when we start hearing noises outside. "Down on your Knees! Don't test my patience boy! I won't hesitate to use this." I hear one of the guard's voice ring out from the darkness with nothing but the torch light illuminating the place. "I am going to connect to the speakers and play loud deafening music. The second that happens, you break the window. The music might be able to drown the noise a bit." Ian says as soon as the lights come back. He does exactly as he says and loud music starts blaring through the speakers. But as soon as it started, we hear a gunshot and the music stops just as quickly. My heart starts beating loudly, breaking the