Vows of Vengeance

Chapter 12: A Sister’s Betrayal

Chapter 12: A Sister’s Betrayal

****Dante’s POV****

The city didn’t sleep anymore. Not for me. Not for her.

I sat in the back of an armored car, eyes locked on the tablet in my hands. Footage of Valentina’s safehouse played on loop. Smoke. Fire. Isabelle’s bloodied face. My heart clenched tighter every time I saw it, even though I knew she made it out alive. Physically, anyway.

But something inside her had cracked.

I knew that look. I’d seen it in the mirror after Matteo died.

We were all carrying ghosts now.

“Boss?” Nico’s voice broke through the hum of the engine. “You sure about meeting Luca again? This feels like walking into a setup.”

I didn’t look up. “It’s not Luca I’m worried about. It’s who else might be watching.”

He grunted. “Victor?”

I nodded.

We pulled up to the Moretti-owned nightclub—The Palladium. A gaudy excuse for a meeting place, but Luca always did enjoy spectacle. My fingers hovered near the grip of my sidearm as I stepped inside, every shadow a potential bullet.

The bouncers let me through without question. Luca was waiting in a private booth upstairs, his suit sharp, his scowl sharper.

“You look like hell,” he said by way of greeting.

“You invited me to one,” I replied.

He smirked and gestured for me to sit. “Scotch?”

“No time.”

He poured anyway. “Then drink while we talk.”

I took the glass, not because I trusted it, but because refusing would make me look weak. And I couldn’t afford weakness—not now.

“Valentina’s gone,” I said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“You knew she was the rat.”

“I suspected. But confirmation is expensive. And dangerous.”

“And what about the new intel? Victor’s next move?”

Luca leaned in, lowering his voice. “He’s shifting resources. East docks. That’s where he’s pulling his heavy hitters.”

“For what?”

He hesitated.

I narrowed my eyes. “Luca.”

“He’s preparing for something big. And he’s not just targeting you anymore. Isabelle’s a liability to him. He wants her erased.”

My blood ran cold.

“She’s family.”

“She was,” he corrected. “But now, she’s in your bed. Which means she’s his enemy.”

I stared at him. “You came here to warn me?”

“No. I came to offer a solution.”

He slid a small drive across the table. “Full inventory of Victor’s eastern warehouse. Weapons. Personnel. Transport logs.”

I picked it up. “What’s the catch?”

“I want Isabelle out of this. Gone. Hidden. Preferably outside the country.”

I clenched my jaw. “She’s not yours to order around.”

“Then do it for her,” he snapped. “Because if Victor gets her, he won’t just kill her. He’ll ruin her. Slowly.”

My fists curled around the glass.

“You think I haven’t tried?” I said. “She doesn’t run. Not anymore. She fights.”

“She’ll die.”

“So will we all, if we don’t take him down first.”

The booth fell silent.

Then Luca nodded. “Then we do it my way. One last job. We raid the east docks. Burn every last connection Victor has.”

“And Isabelle?”

“She doesn’t come. Not for this one.”

I finished my drink. The scotch burned down like a promise.

“We’ll see.”

---

Back at my safehouse, Isabelle was pacing. Blood still stained her shirt, dried along her temple. She looked like a woman who’d walked out of hell and dared it to follow.

“Anything?” she asked.

I tossed the drive onto the table. “Victor’s pulling heavy artillery to the east docks. Luca gave us the layout.”

She raised a brow. “And you trust him?”

“No. But I trust what he wants. Victor dead.”

She picked up the drive, her hands steady. “Then we strike.”

“You’re not coming.”

Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve done enough,” I said, voice low. “And you’re a target now. A big one. Victor’s not playing anymore.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well I do,” I barked. “Do you even realize what nearly happened at Winston Avenue? If we hadn’t gotten out in time—”

“But we did,” she shot back. “And now Valentina’s gone. What do you want me to do, Dante? Sit here and wait while you die next?”

I stepped closer. “I want you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall.

“Then stop treating me like a casualty waiting to happen,” she whispered.

We stood there, inches apart, caught in a silence louder than gunfire.

Then she turned away.

“I’m going to bed. If you decide to go without me… don’t bother coming back.”

She left me in the room alone, shadows creeping up the walls.

And I didn’t know if I’d made the right choice.

But I did know one thing:

Victor Raze was about to find out what betrayal really looked like.

****Isabelle’s POV****

He said I wasn’t coming.

He said it with that edge in his voice—the one that tried to sound protective but always came out possessive. Like I was porcelain. Like I hadn’t just walked through flames and betrayal and come out breathing.

It took everything in me not to scream at him.

Instead, I went upstairs, closed the bedroom door, and leaned against it like it could hold back the world.

But the thing about pretending to be strong is that eventually, it cracks. And the cracks let everything in.

The image of Valentina flashed in my mind. Her calm eyes. The venom in her voice. The weight of her betrayal still pressed into my chest like a bruise I couldn’t massage away.

I wanted answers. Closure. Something.

But all I had was a war.

A war and a man who didn’t trust me enough to fight beside him.

---

The shower scalded my skin. I let it.

I scrubbed the blood from my body until I was raw, and still I didn’t feel clean. Matteo’s ghost lingered in the steam. I imagined what he would say if he could see me now.

You’re not the girl we used to know, Isabelle.

No. I wasn’t.

I toweled off, dressed in black, and went to the mirror. No makeup. No pretenses. Just the woman I’d become. Eyes shadowed from sleepless nights. A tiny scar above my right brow from the explosion. A mouth that trembled when no one was watching.

I didn’t hate her.

But I didn’t recognize her either.

---

Dante was still downstairs when I returned. He sat on the couch, gun dismantled and half-cleaned on the coffee table, but his hands weren’t moving. Just staring.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

He finally raised his eyes. “You’ll die out there.”

“I could die here. I could die in the car. I could die in my sleep. Death isn’t the point anymore.”

“Then what is?”

“Living with myself.”

He sighed and leaned back. “You think this is some kind of redemption mission?”

“No,” I said. “I think it’s the next step. And I need to take it.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then nodded, just once.

“You suit up,” he said. “You listen to me. You follow my lead. And if I say run—”

“I don’t run,” I said.

He smirked despite himself. “Right. Of course not.”

---

I thought preparing for the mission would calm me down.

It didn’t.

Dante handed me a vest, lighter gear than I was used to, but flexible. I loaded two Glocks, strapped a knife to my boot, and clipped an earpiece into place.

“This isn’t going to be a clean job,” Dante said as he holstered his own weapons. “Victor’s dock network is tighter than we thought. There are layers of protection. Security from the inside.”

“Who’s on the inside?”

“We’re about to find out.”

We moved like ghosts through the city.

Two armored SUVs, a team of six including Dante and myself. Nico drove. Jax rode shotgun. The others in the back with us were all hand-picked from Dante’s inner circle. Men who’d bled for him. Killed for him.

Now they were betting their lives on the intelligence Luca had given us.

Every mile closer to the east docks made my stomach twist tighter.

I wasn’t afraid of death.

I was afraid of being wrong. Again.

---

The warehouse district was mostly abandoned by midnight. The buildings loomed like grave markers, their steel bones rusted and silent. The only lights came from the eastern edge—Victor’s hold.

A barge floated there, tethered and idle. A shadow with no name.

Dante signaled silently. We split into pairs.

Nico and Jax flanked left. Two others moved to cover the high ground. Dante and I crept through the side gate, cutting through a stack of rusted containers.

My breath came in short bursts. Controlled. Cold.

I kept my Glock pointed down but ready.

Footsteps up ahead. Voices. Then—

“Go!” Dante barked.

The ambush dropped like a thunderclap.

Gunfire erupted. I ducked behind a crate, returning shots with quick precision. The first wave of Victor’s men were sloppy, overconfident. They didn’t expect resistance.

They didn’t expect me.

A tall man rushed my side. I spun out, dropped to a knee, and fired two shots—center mass. He crumpled.

“Clear left!” I shouted.

“Right’s moving!” Dante called back.

We regrouped behind a container as another burst of bullets tore through the metal. Sparks rained.

Jax’s voice came over the comm: “Sniper, second floor, east window!”

Dante grabbed my hand. “Go. I’ll cover.”

We moved.

I sprinted low, crossing the open lot toward the barge. The docks were lined with crates—most marked under shell companies Victor controlled. Narcotics. Weapons. Records.

We needed evidence. Something solid.

But first, survival.

A man lunged at me with a knife. I dodged the first swipe and slammed my elbow into his jaw. He stumbled. I shot him once in the leg. He dropped.

Behind me, Dante cleared the stairwell.

We pushed forward.

Up close, the warehouse reeked of salt and rust and smoke. Inside was chaos—guards scrambling, shouting orders, smoke bombs rolling across the floor. I saw one of Dante’s men drop. Blood pooled.

Rage surged.

I moved with lethal clarity. Shot two more. Took cover. Spotted the sniper above and gave Dante the nod.

He took the shot.

Glass shattered. Silence.

---

Thirty minutes later, it was over.

Bodies. Blood. A fire in the back corner. And in the chaos, a file folder retrieved from Victor’s private container.

It was labeled: SISTER.

Dante flipped it open.

Inside were photos of me.

All recent.

Taken from surveillance.

Pages of notes. Behavioral patterns. Locations. Times.

A map marked with red ink traced everywhere I’d been in the past month.

My skin crawled.

“He’s been tracking you,” Dante said, voice grim.

“No,” I whispered. “He’s been studying me.”

And in the final page—an ultrasound.

My breath hitched.

I looked at Dante.

His eyes flicked between me and the image. Then back.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

---

That night, as we drove back to the safehouse, silence hung heavier than the smoke still clinging to our clothes.

I sat with the file in my lap, that ultrasound image haunting every beat of my heart.

Was it real? Was it mine?

Had Victor planted it?

Or was he telling me something I didn’t know myself?

---

Later, when Dante stepped into the room with a quiet knock, I didn’t pretend to be asleep.

He sat beside me.

“You okay?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

He rested a hand over mine. “We find out. Together.”

I turned to him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Me neither,” he said.

But he didn’t let go.

And I didn’t pull away.

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

The hour was late, and the world was quiet, but silence meant nothing in Victor Raze’s domain.

In the shadows of a penthouse towering over the western skyline, Victor stood before a wall of screens, each one flickering with surveillance footage. Footage from the docks. From the warehouse. From the barge now reduced to ashes.

His expression didn’t shift—not in fury, not in surprise—as the scenes of blood and gunfire looped again.

A drink sat untouched beside him.

“You were right,” said his second-in-command, Arturo, as he stepped into the room. “They took the bait. The intel you planted about the eastern docks… they swallowed it whole.”

Victor finally moved, turning just enough to glance at Arturo. “And the file?”

Arturo smirked. “They found it. Even the fake ultrasound.”

Victor’s lips curled into something that might’ve been a smile—or a snarl. “Good. That’ll break her. Make her question everything. Even herself.”

Arturo shifted uncomfortably. “And if it doesn’t?”

Victor’s smile vanished. “Then we remind her who she is. And what she’s capable of losing.”

He turned back to the screens.

A still shot of Isabelle appeared: bruised, fierce, armed, alive.

“You never should’ve been his,” he whispered. “You were meant to be mine. My creation. My weapon.”

Behind him, Arturo hesitated. “There’s something else.”

Victor raised an eyebrow.

Arturo handed him a file. “From Valentina. Before the safehouse burned. She left it in the encrypted vault. Said you’d know what to do.”

Victor opened it. Inside were photographs—some recent, some old. Most were of Isabelle. But tucked in the back was a photo of a woman. A different woman.

Not Isabelle. Not Valentina.

A woman with storm-gray eyes.

Victor’s hand froze on the image.

He stared for a long time before whispering, “She’s alive.”

---

Elsewhere, in the heart of the underworld’s political web, Alessandro Moretti stood before an ancient fireplace in the family estate.

Smoke curled up the chimney, thick with old wood and secrets.

Luca’s betrayal had reached him hours ago.

He knew Dante and Isabelle had struck the docks. That Victor had let them win. And that something larger, darker, more calculated was unfolding.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t shout.

Just tapped a single message into a satellite phone:

“The plan advances. Initiate Phase Two.”

The response came a second later:

“Understood. Moving to eliminate all Raze assets by dawn.”

Alessandro slid the phone back into his coat and turned to the shadow at the edge of the room.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said.

The man in the corner stepped forward, face still hidden by the low lamplight.

“I’m only quiet when the future is listening,” the man said.

Alessandro nodded. “Then speak.”

The figure moved closer. “Dante’s emotional investment in Isabelle is both a strength… and a fatal flaw.”

“You think she’ll break him?”

“No. I think she’ll harden him. Turn him into something he was never meant to be.”

“And that concerns you?”

“It excites me.”

---

Three blocks away from the original Raze estate—long since abandoned after the last raid—Valentina Raze stood outside a crumbling church. Her face was cut, her arm in a sling, but her eyes burned with the same wildfire that once filled Isabelle’s.

She wasn’t dead.

She’d escaped before the bomb detonated fully. A tunnel. A plan. Victor’s training.

Now, she was waiting.

A black SUV pulled up, headlights off. A window lowered.

Inside was a face she hadn’t seen in years.

Elijah Raze.

“You’re late,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Elijah grinned. “You look like hell.”

“Looks are deceiving.”

He handed her a burner phone.

“Victor thinks you’re dead.”

“I wanted him to.”

“So why break cover now?”

She glanced at the church one last time before they pulled away.

“Because Dante and Isabelle just started a war,” she said. “But they’re fighting the wrong enemy.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Who should they be fighting?”

Valentina stared forward, voice low. “All of us.”

---

Meanwhile, Isabelle sat alone in the safehouse library, the file still open on the table. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Could barely breathe.

The ultrasound stared back at her like a promise she never made.

Her thoughts spun.

If it was real, she’d be carrying a child.

Dante’s child.

If it was fake, it was a trap. One designed to destabilize her emotionally, make her reckless.

But either way, Victor knew too much.

He always knew too much.

She leaned back in the chair, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Every move they made, he anticipated.

Every secret they held, he turned into a weapon.

And now…

Now there was something deeper. A whisper beneath the chaos. Something she couldn’t yet name.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

Dante stood in the frame, watching her. Not with suspicion. Not with judgment. Just quiet presence.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He’s still playing us.”

Dante moved closer. “We play back.”

She turned to him.

“What if I am?” she asked.

“Pregnant?”

She nodded.

He knelt beside her, took her hand.

“Then we fight harder,” he said. “We protect more.”

She blinked fast. “Even if it’s just a lie?”

He kissed her knuckles. “Then we turn the lie into something true.”

---

Back in Victor’s penthouse, Arturo returned with a secure tablet.

“There’s something else,” he said. “An anomaly.”

Victor arched a brow.

“Someone breached your private vault. The one only accessible with your retinal scan.”

Victor stood slowly. “Impossible.”

“They used a duplicate.”

Victor’s voice dropped. “There is no duplicate.”

“There is now.”

Victor took the tablet.

A video feed showed a masked figure walking the vault hallway.

At the end, they turned to the camera—just for a second.

Then vanished.

Victor’s jaw clenched. “Who was it?”

Arturo swallowed. “We don’t know.”

Victor’s voice turned cold. “Find out. Or find another job.”

As Arturo rushed out, Victor poured the scotch he hadn’t touched.

And downed it all.

In the distance, a storm rolled across the skyline.

But the real storm was already here.

And every soul in this war was standing in the eye of it.