Vows of Vengeance

The warehouse burned behind them, throwing angry flames into the night sky. Dante Vale dragged Isabelle by the wrist through the alley, gun in hand, blood streaking down his temple. Her heels scraped against the pavement as she stumbled. “I said don’t stop,” he growled. “You didn’t have to kill them!” she cried, wrenching her arm free. Dante turned, eyes blazing. “They would’ve killed you.” “Maybe I should’ve let them,” she snapped. “At least then I wouldn’t be running for my life with you.” He stepped closer. “Careful, princess. You don’t know me.” “No,” she whispered, eyes defiant. “But I know what you want.” Silence fell between them, broken only by sirens in the distance. Dante looked at her like she was a loaded gun—beautiful and dangerous. “You think I saved you out of kindness?” he said coldly. “You’re the only leverage I have left against your brother. You’re just a piece on the board, sweetheart.” Her voice was steady. “Then use me wisely… because if I die, so does your revenge.” His hand clenched. She wasn’t supposed to be this calm. This clever. This… tempting. He should kill her. Or trade her. But instead, he found himself stepping closer, lowering his voice. “You think I won’t burn the world to hurt Victor Raze?” She met his eyes. “Then what happens when your heart’s caught in the flames?” For a moment, everything was still. Then the sound of a car pulling up snapped them out of it. Headlights flashed, and a sleek black vehicle screeched to a halt. The door opened. A tall man in a sharp gray suit stepped out. Luca Moretti. And his eyes went straight to Isabelle. “I’ve come to take back what’s mine.”