His Blood, My Vow

Chapter 3: Safe, secrets and sass

Amara adjusted her leather jacket, giving Luca a look that screamed, *Don’t mess with me.* He wasn’t used to that—the boldness of a Nigerian girl who clearly gave zero flying sandals about his mafia status.

“So, we’re really doing this?” Amara asked, eyes narrowed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You expect me to just stroll into your family safe? In the middle of mafia territory? With you?”

Luca smirked, obviously enjoying her fire. “Don’t worry. My men have eyes everywhere. You’ll be fine.”

Amara snorted. “Fine? Honey, the only fine thing here might be me, and even that’s questionable before my morning coffee.”

They stepped into the sleek black car, windows tinted so dark it looked like a rolling fortress. The drive was quiet—except for the occasional snort from Amara as she mentally prepared for whatever insanity was waiting inside that safe.

“Alright, spill,” Amara said, leaning forward. “What’s in the safe that’s got your whole mafia family shaking in their boots?”

Luca glanced at her, eyes glittering with secrets. “Proof. Names. Evidence. Things that could bring down the entire Romano empire.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “And you want me because...?”

“Because,” Luca said, voice low, “you stitched a secret message into a suit that was meant for someone else. Someone dangerous. Someone who’s been sneaking around our world.”

Amara gave a half-smile, half-grimace. “Yeah, about that whole ‘accidentally stitching secret messages’ thing—turns out, my sewing skills might just be world-threatening.”

Luca laughed—a rare sound, like thunder breaking the silence. “Exactly why I need you.”

The car stopped in front of an unassuming building, but Amara knew better. This was mafia HQ—understated, deadly, and nothing like her lively Lagos neighborhood.

They entered through a series of guarded doors, eyes watching their every move. Amara’s hand hovered near the small dagger she always carried—just in case.

Inside, Luca led her to a vault the size of a small room. With a few codes and the flick of a wrist, the safe door creaked open.

Inside were stacks of files, folders, and a few small, mysterious boxes. Amara blinked, suddenly feeling like she’d stepped into a spy movie.

“Pick something,” Luca said. “We need to find out who’s betraying my family.”

Amara grabbed a file and flipped it open. “Names, dates, shady deals... typical mafia drama.”

Suddenly, alarms blared.

“Great,” Amara muttered, eyes narrowing. “You seriously didn’t think this would be easy, did you?”

Luca pulled her behind a metal crate as bullets started flying.

“Welcome to my world,” he said, his voice steady but tense.

Amara’s heart pounded, but she grinned. “You want action? Fine. Let’s dance.”

With surprising agility, Amara kicked a crate towards one attacker, knocking him off balance. Luca moved like a shadow, taking down another with a swift punch.

Bullets shattered glass and ricocheted off walls. Amara ducked, grabbed a metal rod, and swung it like a pro.

“Not bad for a fashion student,” Luca admitted, panting.

Amara winked. “There’s more to me than just sewing and sass.”

Within minutes, the attackers fled, leaving the safe eerily quiet again.

Luca looked at Amara, a new respect shining in his eyes. “You’re more than I expected.”

Amara smirked, brushing dust off her jacket. “I’m a whole package. Remember that.”

As they left the safe, Amara realized this crazy mafia mess wasn’t going anywhere—and neither was Luca.

And honestly? She was kind of excited.