The Devil's Vow

Eleven Years Earlier The night smelled of rain and gunpowder. Alessandro De Luca would remember that combination for the rest of his life. He would remember the way rain streaked down the tall windows of his father's study, turning the city beyond them into a blur of silver and black. He would remember the distant rumble of thunder, the expensive whiskey untouched on his father's desk, and the unmistakable sound of a man trying not to sound afraid. Most of all, he would remember the promise. Alessandro was sixteen that night. He was old enough to understand that the men who entered the De Luca estate after midnight were not there for a friendly conversation. He was old enough to recognize the weight of a concealed weapon beneath a man's jacket and young enough to believe that whatever was happening downstairs could not possibly reach him. He had been wrong. Barefoot and dressed in black sleep trousers, Alessandro stood at the top of the staircase, half-hidden behind the shadows of the corridor. Below him stood three men. His father, Vincenzo De Luca, occupied the centre of the entrance hall with the quiet authority that made grown men lower their eyes. Across from him stood a man Alessandro recognized from occasional family gatherings. Antonio Moretti. Sofia's father. Alessandro had seen Sofia only once. She had been twelve, sitting beneath an olive tree in the garden with a book resting against her knees. When Alessandro had walked past, she'd looked up at him and smiled as though they were ordinary children living ordinary lives. He hadn't smiled back. He'd been too determined to look older than sixteen. He remembered her anyway. "You are asking me to protect your daughter," Vincenzo said. Antonio's shoulders were tense. "I'm asking you to keep her away from this." A humourless laugh left Vincenzo. "You've spent twenty years making deals with wolves, Antonio. You don't get to decide who gets bitten." "My daughter has nothing to do with this." "She has your blood." "Exactly." The silence that followed seemed to stretch through the entire house. Alessandro tightened his grip around the banister. His father poured himself a drink, though he didn't take a sip. "What exactly have you done?" Antonio reached inside his coat. Vincenzo's hand immediately moved toward the weapon beneath his jacket. Antonio froze. Slowly, he withdrew a small envelope and placed it on the table between them. "Everything you need is in there." Vincenzo looked at it but didn't touch it. "What is this?" "Insurance." "Against whom?" Antonio's gaze moved toward the staircase. For one terrifying second, Alessandro thought he'd been discovered. But Antonio looked away. "Against everyone." Vincenzo finally picked up the envelope and opened it. He read whatever was inside, and something changed in his face. It was subtle. Almost invisible. But Alessandro knew his father. Fear. Real fear. "What have you done?" Vincenzo asked. Antonio swallowed. "What I had to." "Do you understand what happens if this gets out?" "Yes." "They'll kill you." "I know." "They'll kill your wife." "I know." "And your daughter?" Antonio closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Alessandro saw something he had never seen in another man's face before. A father's terror. "That's why I'm here." Vincenzo stared at him for several seconds before speaking. "You want me to hide her." "I want you to make sure they never find her." "And when they come looking?" "They won't know where to look." "You can't guarantee that." "No." Antonio's voice softened. "That's why I need your son." Vincenzo turned toward the staircase. "Alessandro." There was no point hiding anymore. Alessandro descended slowly, his heart pounding. His father looked furious. "What are you doing out of bed?" "I heard the gunshot." "Go upstairs." Alessandro didn't move. Antonio studied him for a moment before saying, "Come here." He obeyed. When Alessandro reached the bottom step, Antonio crouched slightly so they were eye to eye. "You remember my daughter?" Alessandro nodded. "Sofia." Antonio gave him a sad smile. "Good." From his pocket, he pulled out a small silver pendant. It was simple, almost delicate, with a tiny engraved symbol on its surface. "One day," Antonio said, "people will tell her things about me." Alessandro frowned. "They'll tell her I was a traitor. They'll tell her I betrayed people who trusted me. They may even tell her I deserved what happened to me." "What happened?" Antonio glanced at Vincenzo. His father said nothing. Then Antonio looked back at Alessandro. "I need you to remember something for me." Alessandro nodded. "If they come for Sofia, don't let them take her." The words settled heavily between them. "I don't understand." "You don't need to." "Why me?" Antonio's eyes softened. "Because your father has taught you the difference between loyalty and obedience." Alessandro looked toward Vincenzo. His father's expression remained unreadable. Antonio placed the pendant in Alessandro's palm. "One day, you'll have to choose between the two." Alessandro closed his fingers around the silver. "Choose loyalty." "I promise." Vincenzo stepped forward immediately. "Don't make promises you don't understand." Alessandro looked at his father. "I understand." "No," Vincenzo said quietly. "You don't." Antonio straightened. "The boy understands more than you think." A vehicle passed outside. Then another. Vincenzo's attention snapped toward the windows. The colour drained from Antonio's face. Vincenzo crossed to the curtains and pulled one aside just enough to look outside. His expression changed. "They found you." Antonio shook his head. "No." "How many cars?" "Four." One of the men downstairs moved toward the front entrance. Another hurried into the room. "They're surrounding the estate." Everything happened at once. Vincenzo reached for his gun. "Alessandro, upstairs. Now." "But—" "Now!" Alessandro turned toward the staircase. The first window shattered. Gunfire erupted through the house. He ran. He remembered pieces of what happened afterward, never the whole thing. The sound of his father's men shouting. The smell of smoke. Glass beneath his bare feet. A door slamming somewhere below him. His own heartbeat pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything else. And then, eventually, silence. When Alessandro finally came downstairs, the house looked as though a storm had torn through it. Broken glass covered the floor. Smoke hung beneath the ceiling. Antonio was gone. So was the envelope. Alessandro found his father standing alone in the centre of the room. "Where is he?" Vincenzo didn't answer. "Where is Antonio?" Nothing. Alessandro's hand closed around the pendant still hidden in his palm. "Where is Sofia?" His father finally looked at him. "Forget the girl." Alessandro stared at him. "What?" "You never met her." "But you told me—" "I told you nothing." Alessandro couldn't understand how quickly everything had changed. "Where is she?" Vincenzo walked toward him. "If you ever speak her name again, you'll put a target on your own back." Alessandro stood his ground. "Why?" "Because the people who came here tonight aren't finished." His father's voice dropped. "And if they discover that you know about Sofia, they'll come for you next." Alessandro said nothing. Vincenzo walked away. But the boy remained in the middle of the ruined hall, staring at the blood on the marble floor. He was sixteen years old. He didn't know where Sofia Moretti was. He didn't know what her father had done. He didn't know who had attacked the estate or why the contents of that envelope had frightened his father. He only knew that a frightened man had placed a silver pendant in his hand and asked him to protect a girl who didn't even know his name. Alessandro looked down at the pendant. Then he closed his fist around it. He had already given Antonio one promise. Now he made another. This one belonged only to him. If the world ever came for Sofia Moretti, it would have to come through him first. Eleven years later, Alessandro would discover exactly what that promise had cost him. Because protecting Sofia would be easy compared with the one thing he had never prepared himself to do. Love her.