Vows of Vengeance

Chapter 11: The Moretti Pact

Chapter 11: The Moretti Pact

****Dante’s POV****

The night air stank of motor oil, salt, and danger.

I stood outside the rusted warehouse on the edge of the abandoned shipyard, flanked by two of my men. My coat whipped against my legs in the wind, the taste of metal sharp on my tongue. It was late, but the city never slept. Not the parts I haunted.

I had enemies in every shadow. And now, I was about to walk into the lion’s den and shake hands with the one man I swore I’d never trust.

Luca Moretti.

My jaw clenched as the heavy steel door creaked open. The warehouse was hollow and echoing, with only the sound of dripping water and distant traffic filtering in. He was already inside, waiting.

Luca stood with his hands in his coat pockets, back lit by an overhead industrial lamp. He looked like the devil in designer silk—calm, cold, lethal. There was something about him that always felt too controlled, too polished, like every movement was rehearsed.

And yet, he had that same fire in his eyes that I saw in Isabelle when she was angry. Maybe it was blood. Or maybe it was heartbreak.

“You’re late,” he said, voice flat.

“I was debating whether it was worth it.”

“And yet, here you are.”

I gestured for my men to wait outside. He did the same with his. We stood alone under the dim light, two wolves circling the same corpse.

“Why now?” I asked him. “Why offer to help kill Victor?”

Luca gave a slow shrug. “Because he crossed the line. And because you’re closer to him than I am. You’ve gotten under his skin. He’s starting to unravel.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not the type to admit someone else has the advantage.”

He smirked. “I’m not. Which should tell you how serious I am.”

I studied him, watching the tight line of his shoulders. “This isn’t about Victor. Not really. It’s about her.”

A pause.

“Isabelle?”

“Don’t say her name like you own it.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t own her. But I loved her. Still do, in some ways.”

“Then why are we standing here making deals?” I snapped. “You want Victor dead? Fine. So do I. But don’t pretend this is about justice. This is about revenge. About her.”

Luca stepped closer, face carved in stone. “You’re damn right it is. She ran to you. Chose you. I was supposed to be the one protecting her, building a future with her. And now she looks at me like I’m the villain in a story I didn’t even write.”

“You want a clean conscience?” I said. “Then help me take down Victor. But if you touch her again—”

“I’m not here to fight you for her.”

I raised a brow.

“Not yet,” he added.

There it was. The threat beneath the truce.

“What’s the price?” I asked.

“You’re not stupid,” he said. “You know Victor isn’t working alone. Someone inside your network is feeding him information.”

“I know.”

“I can help you find the rat.”

“And in return?”

“When this is over—when Victor’s dead—I want a clean slate. No retaliation. No hits. I want out.”

I blinked.

“You’re planning to walk away?”

Luca’s gaze darkened. “I’m planning to survive.”

It surprised me, hearing that from him. The Luca I knew was all pride and power. But this… this was a man tired of shadows.

“Deal,” I said finally. “You help me find the mole and take down Victor. After that—we’re done.”

He held out his hand. I stared at it for a moment before clasping it. His grip was strong. Cold.

It felt like shaking hands with a cobra.

---

Later that night, I sat alone in my safehouse, lights dimmed, nursing a glass of bourbon that burned all the way down. My mind spun in circles.

I shouldn’t have trusted him. Every part of me screamed it was a mistake. But this war was escalating, and Victor was ahead of me by moves I couldn’t track. If Luca had leverage, I needed it.

I stared at the photo on my desk—Matteo and I as boys, arms slung around each other, grinning in a world that still made sense.

He’d been the first to die.

But not the last.

Victor had taken everything from me.

And now, he’d turned Isabelle into a target too.

I downed the rest of the bourbon and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Not anymore.

---

The next morning, Luca’s file arrived via encrypted courier. Inside were documents, access logs, and most importantly—a name.

My blood ran cold.

I knew the name.

I’d trusted them.

I called Isabelle immediately. Her voice was groggy, like she’d just woken up.

“Dante?”

“We have a problem.”

She was silent.

“Someone in my circle is feeding Victor real-time intel. Luca found them. We need to talk. Face-to-face.”

She hesitated. “Where?”

“My place. One hour.”

I didn’t give her time to argue.

---

When she arrived, I saw the tension in her frame. She hadn’t slept. Her eyes were sharp, lips set in a line of quiet fury.

“Who is it?” she asked.

I handed her the file.

She opened it. Read the first page.

Her knees buckled slightly.

It was someone she knew too.

“Why?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“We need to move fast,” she said. “Before they realize we’re onto them.”

“I already made the call. My team’s tracking their movement. If they so much as breathe in Victor’s direction again, we’ll know.”

She looked at me. “Do you trust Luca?”

“No.”

“Then why work with him?”

“Because I trust what he wants.”

She nodded slowly.

“Dante…”

“What?”

“If this goes wrong—”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does,” she said, stepping closer, “you need to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t die for me.”

I froze.

“I mean it,” she said. “If it comes down to it… save yourself.”

I stared into her eyes.

And I lied.

“I promise.”

---

We left the safehouse together, our weapons loaded, our masks back on. We weren’t lovers in this moment. We were soldiers. And the war was just beginning.

*****Isabelle’s POV*****

I hadn’t slept.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because every time I closed my eyes, I heard them—ghosts of the past whispering doubts into the cracks of my resolve. Matteo’s laughter, Victor’s demands, Luca’s promises. And Dante’s voice, low and furious, in the dark.

My phone buzzed on the table just as the early morning haze filtered through the high windows of my safehouse. The screen lit up with Dante’s name. I didn’t hesitate to answer.

“We have a problem,” he said.

No preamble. No good morning. Just those four words that made my spine stiffen.

I listened carefully. The moment he mentioned someone from inside feeding Victor information, the remnants of sleep evaporated. My breath hitched when he added one final thing: “Luca found them.”

I didn’t ask for more. I didn’t need to.

My past was catching up to me again.

---

The cab ride to Dante’s safehouse was quiet. I stared at the rainy streets through fogged windows. This city was a graveyard of broken deals and bloodstained vows, and I was starting to realize I had left too many loose threads behind. Some weren’t as dead as I thought.

By the time I walked into Dante’s apartment, my heart was a storm in my chest. He stood by the window, the file already open on the table beside him.

“Who is it?” I asked.

He handed me the file. I braced myself and read.

I didn’t get past the second line.

My cousin. Valentina Raze.

“No,” I whispered. My knees went weak, and I gripped the back of the chair for balance.

She was family. Not just family—she was the one who used to braid my hair as a child, who covered for me when I snuck out of the estate, who sat with me in silence the night Matteo died.

“She’s working for Victor?”

“She’s the mole,” Dante confirmed. “And she’s been feeding him intel on our moves. For months.”

I clenched my fists. “I don’t believe it.”

“You’d better start,” he said. “Because if we don’t move, she’ll get us all killed.”

My vision blurred. Rage wasn’t hot—it was cold. It sat in my chest like ice, numbing everything else.

“Why would she do this?” I asked.

Dante’s eyes stayed on mine. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

---

We didn’t waste time.

While Dante coordinated with his team, I sat on the edge of the couch, flipping through every line of Valentina’s file. There were coded messages, wire transfers, encrypted calls routed through ghost networks. She was careful, meticulous. But not careful enough.

“She started six months ago,” Dante said as he re-entered the room. “About the time you reappeared on the grid.”

That hit harder than I expected.

“She did it because of me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe Victor offered her something she couldn’t refuse.”

“Like what?” I snapped. “Power? Revenge?”

Dante shrugged. “Freedom. Or the illusion of it.”

I hated how plausible that sounded. We were all bound by something. Victor had always known how to prey on that.

“She’s in the city,” he added. “Using an old Raze front property on Winston Avenue. We’re surveilling the building. If she leaves, we follow.”

“I need to see her.”

“No.”

I turned sharply toward him. “She’s mine, Dante. She’s my blood.”

“She’s a threat,” he said evenly. “You said it yourself—Victor doesn’t leave loose ends. She’ll kill you if she has to.”

I shook my head. “I can reach her.”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I wasn’t asking permission.”

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. His voice was low and dangerous. “Isabelle, don’t make me choose between protecting you and trusting you.”

I looked up at him, heart pounding.

“You said you trusted me.”

“I do. But this war is bigger than both of us.”

“Which is exactly why we need to fight it our way.”

He didn’t argue again. Just sighed.

“Fine. But we go together.”

---

Winston Avenue was quiet when we arrived.

Too quiet.

The safehouse was nestled between two abandoned storefronts, a three-story building that used to be a tailor’s shop. There was no signage now. Just locked shutters, reinforced windows, and silence.

We approached from opposite ends, with comms active and weapons drawn. I spotted Valentina through a second-floor window. She was alone. Or so it seemed.

Dante gave me a look—one part warning, one part question. I nodded.

We breached fast.

I kicked open the rear door while Dante covered the stairwell. We moved in tandem, a storm in slow motion. When I burst into the room, Valentina didn’t flinch.

She was sitting at a small desk, turning a pen over in her fingers. Calm. Too calm.

“Hello, cousin,” she said softly.

I didn’t lower my gun.

“Why?” I asked.

She tilted her head. “You already know why.”

“Say it.”

She stood slowly, hands raised. “Because Victor made a better offer. Because you left us. Because you were supposed to die and didn’t.”

My mouth went dry.

“You betrayed me.”

“I did what I had to do,” she said. “You were always the favorite. Matteo’s shadow. Dante’s obsession. You think you’re the only one with a tragic past?”

I stepped closer. “He’s using you. You’re a pawn.”

She laughed bitterly. “Better a pawn than a forgotten queen.”

Dante stepped in behind me. “We need to go. Now.”

Valentina’s smile faded.

“Already too late.”

That’s when I saw it—the blinking light beneath the table.

“Bomb!” Dante shouted.

We dove as the device detonated.

The blast tore through the building, hurling us into the hallway. My ears rang, vision spinning. Flames licked at the walls. I couldn’t hear anything except the thundering in my chest.

Dante pulled me up, half-dragging me toward the exit. Valentina was gone.

Or dead.

The fire swallowed the stairwell as we collapsed onto the sidewalk, coughing and bleeding.

“She planned this,” I gasped.

“She knew we’d come,” Dante said grimly.

We watched the building burn.

And I realized something that broke me more than the betrayal ever could.

We were losing.

---

Back at the safehouse, I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Smoke-streaked skin. A gash above my eyebrow. Blood on my collar.

I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

When Dante entered, I didn’t speak. I just leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His arms wrapped around me tightly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

He kissed my forehead.

“We survive this. Then we rebuild.”

I nodded.

But inside, I wasn’t sure rebuilding was even possible.

Not with ghosts in every room.

Not with family turned enemy.

And not with Victor always one step ahead.

But I knew one thing:

If we were going down, I wasn’t going quietly.

I would fight. Until the last breath.

For Matteo.

For Dante.

For myself.

And maybe… just maybe, for a future still worth saving.

****Third-Person POV****

The rain returned with a vengeance.

Dark clouds settled over the rooftops like ash from a funeral pyre. Far from the city’s chaos and burning secrets, another meeting brewed in silence—a pact born not from trust, but necessity.

The Moretti estate sat at the edge of the northern hills, an opulent fortress with iron gates and a legacy soaked in blood. Unlike the sleek modern towers that marked Victor Raze’s territory, this place was old money. Old rules. Old warlords.

Inside the private library, Alessandro Moretti poured a glass of scotch, his movements deliberate, unhurried. Every step was calculated, as though rehearsed years in advance. Age had not dulled his senses—it had refined them into blades.

Across from him sat Luca, still in his storm-soaked jacket. He hadn’t removed it. The air between father and son remained bitterly cold.

“You made a deal with Dante Vale,” Alessandro said without looking up.

Luca leaned back. “I did.”

“And yet you didn’t inform me first.”

“I’m informing you now.”

Alessandro finally looked at him. “You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment.”

Luca smirked. “You mean Isabelle?”

His father didn’t blink. “I mean revenge. It makes men impulsive.”

“She chose him.”

“And that makes her disposable.”

Luca’s hand tightened into a fist, but he didn’t rise. “She’s still blood.”

“She’s a Raze,” Alessandro countered. “Victor’s blood. Which means she’ll bleed the same.”

The silence that followed was sharp as glass.

Then Alessandro walked over to a drawer, retrieving a sealed envelope. He dropped it on the table between them.

“What’s this?” Luca asked.

“Everything we know about Victor’s plan,” Alessandro replied. “And the name of the informant inside Dante’s circle.”

Luca narrowed his eyes. “How did you—?”

“We’ve been watching both sides. Preparing for either outcome. Whichever of you survives, Moretti wins.”

Luca stared at him. “You’re playing both ends.”

“It’s called survival.”

“You’re gambling with my life.”

“No. I’m offering you a choice. Either you lead us into the next generation… or you die with the old one.”

Luca stood slowly, rage bubbling beneath the surface.

“What if I kill them both?” he asked. “Dante. Victor. Burn it all down and build something new.”

Alessandro’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’ll have earned it.”

---

Meanwhile, in a shadowed surveillance room deep beneath a Syndicate bank shell, Victor Raze watched a grainy monitor flicker to life.

Isabelle.

Alive.

Standing beside Dante, staring into the fire at Winston Avenue.

The footage had been transmitted via drone, one of the many silent watchers Victor kept hovering above his empire.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, and let the satisfaction settle into his chest.

“They survived,” said his lieutenant from the shadows.

“Good,” Victor murmured.

“Should we strike now?”

“Not yet.”

The lieutenant blinked. “But they know about Valentina.”

“I want them to know,” Victor said. “Doubt corrodes trust faster than bullets. Let it spread.”

He turned back to the screen.

Isabelle’s face lingered there. Hardened. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“She looks more like her father every day,” he said quietly.

“Sir?”

Victor tapped the screen with one long finger. “Not me. Her real father. The one I buried twenty-two years ago.”

The lieutenant hesitated. “Does she know?”

Victor smiled.

“Not yet. But she will.”

---

As night deepened across the city, Elijah Raze hacked into another layer of Victor’s encrypted network. The data he retrieved left his skin cold.

A coded message flagged for internal clearance only:

PROJECT LUX—Final Activation Pending.

Elijah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“What the hell is Project Lux?” he whispered.

And then, without warning, his screen went black.

Followed by two words in red:

WE SEE YOU.

He bolted from his chair just as the first bullet shattered the window behind him.

The war had reached his doorstep.

And this time, there was no safehouse left.