Vows of Vengeance

Chapter 9: Secrets Between Sheets

Chapter 9: Secrets Between Sheets

****Dante’s Point of View****

The first thing I felt was the warmth of her skin.

Not the pain in my side, not the cold air sneaking through the cracks of the vault, not even the burning weight of the war outside.

Just her.

Isabelle, curled beside me on the old cot in Matteo’s bunker, her fingers resting over the bandage she’d helped wrap across my ribs. Her breathing was slow, steady. Peaceful, even, like the chaos we’d endured was a distant dream. But for me, sleep hadn’t come easily. Not when I still couldn’t decide if I was lying next to a miracle or a ticking bomb.

She shifted slightly, a sigh leaving her lips. I didn’t know if she was awake or drifting through memories, but the instinct to reach for her was impossible to suppress.

I did.

And when her hand slipped into mine without hesitation, I realized we were both already too far gone.

“I can feel you thinking,” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Her eyes opened slowly, finding mine. Even in the dark, there was clarity in them—like a storm had passed and left behind nothing but honesty.

“What is it?” she asked.

I hesitated. “Are we doing this?”

“Which part?”

“All of it. You. Me. The truth. The war.”

Her hand squeezed mine. “We have to.”

There was a long silence between us, the kind that used to mean danger in our world. But now, it was something more sacred. Reflection. Choice. The edge of something real.

I turned onto my side, facing her fully.

“I keep thinking about Matteo,” I admitted. “The way he kept everything close. He trusted you. Gave you the files, the secrets. You were his legacy.”

“And you were his brother,” she said softly. “The only one he ever believed could finish what he started.”

“Feels like I’m still catching up.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re doing more than catching up, Dante. You’re surviving. That’s more than most of us could say.”

Another pause. Her fingers traced the edge of my bandage.

“You saved me back there,” I said. “That warehouse…”

“I didn’t save you,” she whispered. “I chose you.”

My throat tightened.

She pushed herself up slightly, just enough for her lips to graze mine.

And in that instant, nothing else mattered. Not Victor. Not Luca. Not the Lazarus Protocol.

Just her.

The kiss was slow—like we had all the time in the world, even though we both knew we didn’t. Her hand slid over my chest, careful of the wound, her mouth warm, tasting faintly of adrenaline and regret.

We broke apart, but neither of us moved away.

“You still don’t trust me completely,” she said. It wasn’t an accusation. Just fact.

“I want to,” I replied.

“Then ask me anything. I won’t lie to you.”

I studied her face. “What did Victor do to you?”

Her breath hitched.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her and stared at the low concrete ceiling, like the words were trapped there.

“He taught me how to disappear,” she said finally. “From myself. From everyone. He made me believe love was a weakness. That connection was liability. That survival meant sacrifice.”

“What did you sacrifice?”

“Everything.”

Her voice cracked, just slightly. “He made me think I was saving Matteo when I delivered the Lazarus drive to Elijah three years ago. But it was a lie. Matteo was already marked. They just needed me to confirm his location.”

I sat up, staring. “You led them to him?”

“I didn’t know,” she said, voice trembling. “I didn’t know until it was too late. Matteo found out. He forgave me. But I never did.”

My heart twisted. “You weren’t the killer. Victor was.”

“But I held the blade.”

She looked at me again, and there was no armor left.

“I wanted to die that night,” she confessed. “But I ran. Matteo told me to run. Said one day I’d find the person who’d make me believe in something again.”

Her hand found mine.

“And I think he meant you.”

My breath caught.

We sat there, surrounded by files, maps, weapons, the blueprints of a conspiracy years in the making… and somehow, none of it felt as urgent as the woman sitting in front of me.

I leaned in again, this time kissing her deeper, slower. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. She pressed her forehead against mine.

“We don’t get many good moments in this world,” she whispered.

“So we take them,” I said.

“Even if they don’t last.”

“Especially then.”

---

Morning came slowly. The bunker had no windows, only the dim hum of generators to mark time. I awoke to Isabelle pacing the floor, dressed, alert, the fire back in her eyes.

She was reading through Matteo’s notes, a red marker in one hand, her lips moving as she whispered the cipher aloud.

I rose, sore but steadier than the night before. “You never stop, do you?”

“Only when I’m dead,” she replied with a tight smile.

I joined her at the table.

“What are you looking for?”

“A location.”

“For what?”

“The Lazarus core server. The original one.”

I frowned. “I thought that was destroyed.”

“It was hidden. Matteo left a clue in his notes, cross-referenced through old aliases and shell companies.”

She tapped a red circle she’d drawn.

“Columba Labs,” she said. “Abandoned biotech facility in Estonia. Built under a fake company name. Off-grid. Private airfield.”

“Why haven’t we heard of it before?”

“Because the name was never listed. Matteo only referred to it in symbols. It took me years to realize it was a constellation cipher.”

“You’re insane,” I murmured, impressed.

She gave me a crooked grin. “And you’re in love with me.”

I blinked.

She froze.

Neither of us breathed for a second.

“I didn’t mean—”

But I cut her off, cupping her face in both hands.

“I am.”

Her eyes widened.

“I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if we make it out of this. But I do know that if I die, I want it to be fighting beside you. Not chasing ghosts.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“Then we fight together.”

We kissed again, sealing something silent and sacred between us.

And as the war loomed closer, for a brief moment, we were something human again.

****Isabelle’s Point of View****

I used to believe that survival came with silence—quiet loyalty, hidden scars, and the ability to disappear into the shadows before anyone saw the truth.

Now I’m beginning to understand that survival isn’t just about slipping away. It’s about choosing to stay.

Even when it’s dangerous.

Even when it hurts.

Especially then.

Dante slept beside me, his chest rising and falling with a steadiness I hadn’t seen in him for days. Weeks, maybe. He looked younger in his sleep. Less hardened. Less haunted.

I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept in years, not really.

Matteo’s files covered every surface in the bunker. Notes, schematics, redacted intelligence, burner phone logs. Pages and pages of secrets only a dead man could leave behind. I’d been working through them all night. Not because I had to, but because I needed to. The more I read, the more I saw it—how Matteo had pieced together something no one else could: a system of rot so deep inside the Syndicate that it no longer had a clean core.

Victor had turned Lazarus into a god machine.

And I was its final key.

I looked at the paper where I had circled the Columba constellation. Dante had fallen back asleep after our talk. After our kiss. After those three words I never thought I’d hear him say again.

I love you.

And for the first time, I believed it wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment adrenaline. I believed it was the echo of every moment we never got to have.

I folded the paper, slipped it into my jacket.

We were leaving in six hours. Theo was arranging transport. But I needed one last thing before we went to war.

Closure.

---

I slipped out of the bunker quietly, taking only my sidearm, a burner phone, and the small flash drive I’d hidden years ago under false names and encrypted walls. The one that contained my full Lazarus file—every mission, every kill, every betrayal. I hadn’t shown it to Dante. Not yet. He needed hope. Not confirmation of how deep I’d once drowned.

The bar I ended up in was nearly empty. A dive joint just outside the perimeter of the Syndicate’s known territory. I chose it because it was neutral. Or as neutral as a place could be in a world soaked in blood and smoke.

He was already there.

Elijah Raze.

My half-brother. My betrayer. The man who had once stood between me and Victor, and who eventually stepped aside.

He looked older than I remembered. More tired. His eyes were hollowed, not from sleeplessness but from compromise.

“You came,” he said.

“I needed to look you in the eye one more time.”

He gestured to the seat across from him. “Drink?”

“No.”

I sat.

He studied me in silence. “You’re different.”

“I stopped pretending.”

He nodded. “I see that. And him?”

“Dante?” I smiled faintly. “He never had to pretend.”

“So it’s real.”

“It always was.”

Elijah looked down. “Victor knows. He’s moving pieces we haven’t even seen yet. The Council is fracturing. Luca’s taking territory. You think this ends with some heroic strike on an old server farm?”

“I think it ends with a choice,” I said. “Ours.”

He met my gaze. “I wanted to protect you, you know.”

“You failed.”

“I know.”

He slid a thin envelope across the table.

I hesitated. “What is it?”

“A location. One Victor never let me near. I think it’s where he’s keeping the core backup.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why give it to me?”

“Because I’m tired, Isabelle. Tired of playing his game. And because… I never stopped being your brother.”

I stared at him.

And for a second, I wanted to believe him.

But faith had a cost, and I was running out of currency.

I stood. “Thank you.”

He looked up. “If you survive this—”

“Then the world changes.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then at least I tried.”

I walked out without looking back.

---

By the time I returned to the bunker, the sky was lightening at the edges.

Dante was awake, packing ammo and gear, his expression calm and focused. When he saw me, he crossed the room.

“You left.”

“I needed answers.”

His jaw twitched. “From Elijah?”

I nodded.

He didn’t press. Just took my hand and held it like a grounding wire.

I showed him the envelope.

“A second Lazarus core?” he asked.

“I think so. But it could be a trap.”

“Then we go in ready.”

He kissed my forehead. “Together.”

And this time, I didn’t pull away.

****Third-Person Point of View****

The sun had barely begun its climb over the city’s horizon, casting gold-tinged light on buildings that had seen too much blood. But down in the belly of the world—in bunkers, secret rooms, encrypted channels—the war whispered louder.

Dante and Isabelle stood at a precipice neither could avoid. Around them, everything moved.

At a high-rise halfway across the city, Luca Moretti stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse suite, his espresso untouched, the aroma wafting like an insult. His second-in-command, Cassano, handed him a folder.

“She met with Elijah.”

Luca raised an eyebrow. “And she lived?”

Cassano nodded. “They didn’t fight. No surveillance inside the bar, but satellite caught the plates on Isabelle’s car. She came alone. Elijah left ten minutes after her.”

Luca flipped the folder open. A photo of Isabelle stepping out under flickering neon light stared back at him. Her face wasn’t fearful. It was hardened. Transformed.

“She’s changed,” he said aloud, more to himself than anyone.

Cassano cleared his throat. “And Vale?”

“Still alive. Still stupid.”

“But dangerous.”

Luca’s fingers curled around the edge of the folder. “Always.”

He turned back to the window, his reflection staring at him in the glass like a ghost from a life he didn’t recognize anymore.

“They think they can take down Victor,” he murmured. “They’re going to need more than love and a few old files.”

Cassano waited. He knew better than to interrupt Luca when the man was brooding. Luca’s silences were violent in their own way. Strategically lethal.

“Send a drone over the Estonia coordinates. See if anything unusual pings from the site Isabelle circled in her route logs.”

“You think it’s the Lazarus core?”

“I think she thinks it is,” Luca said. “And that’s enough to make it worth watching.”

---

In the Syndicate stronghold, Victor Raze moved through the war room like a general stepping over fallen soldiers. His council members whispered as he passed, though none dared speak openly now. Fear ran deeper than loyalty.

He watched the screens. Isabelle. Dante. Luca. Elijah. All pieces. All once in his hand.

Now fraying.

Victor tapped into the secure Lazarus mainframe. A series of encryption codes danced across the screen.

He keyed in a command:

> RETRIEVE: SUBJECT RAZE-ISABELLE

A file opened. Pages of her profile filled the monitor—medical records, psychological evaluations, mission logs, kill orders she’d carried out.

And one line, at the very top, in red:

> PRIMARY ASSET. UNSTABLE. CODE-BOND TO CORE BACKUP.

Victor leaned closer. “I made you,” he whispered to the screen. “I can unmake you.”

Behind him, Elijah entered without knocking.

Victor didn’t turn.

“You met with her,” Victor said.

“She wanted truth. I gave her what she wanted.”

Victor finally looked over. “You still think she’ll come back to us?”

Elijah paused. “No. I think she’s going to burn us all.”

Victor smiled faintly. “Then we must burn her first.”

---

Back in the bunker, Theo arrived early with a sleek black vehicle, engine humming like a coiled beast. He didn’t speak as he handed over the satellite phone and loaded the last of the supplies.

Dante watched him with narrowed eyes. “You sure about this?”

Theo met his gaze. “I don’t do sure anymore. But I believe in Isabelle. And if she believes in you, that’s enough.”

It was the closest thing to a blessing he would ever get.

They departed just before noon, heading for a private airstrip cloaked beneath a decommissioned military site. Isabelle took the front seat. Dante sat in the back, rifle across his lap, eyes flicking to every car that passed them. The city was too quiet. Too compliant.

As if it knew something no one had said aloud yet: the war wasn’t coming.

It was already here.

---

Halfway to the airstrip, their convoy was intercepted.

Not by Syndicate soldiers.

By Luca.

His black Range Rover swerved in front of Theo’s car, forcing them into a controlled stop. Before Dante or Isabelle could react, armored men in suits and masks flanked them with precision—no shots fired, just overwhelming presence.

Dante stepped out, gun raised.

But Luca held up a hand. “Relax. If I wanted you dead, you’d be bleeding by now.”

Isabelle emerged next, tense.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Luca looked her over like she was a rare, priceless relic.

“To talk. To offer an alliance.”

Dante laughed coldly. “You think we’re stupid?”

“I think you’re desperate,” Luca said. “Victor’s gone rabid. Elijah’s loyalty is paper-thin. And that backup location in Estonia?”

He tossed a small data drive to Isabelle.

“Already scouted. It’s real. But it’s not unguarded. You walk in there without support, you die. You’ll never reach the core.”

Isabelle caught the drive, studied it.

“And you’re just giving this to us?” she asked.

“I’m offering you a deal,” Luca said. “You give me a copy of what’s on the core. I give you a clean extraction. No Syndicate tail, no satellite tracking, no collateral.”

Dante stepped closer. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

Luca’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I want Victor broken. I want the Lazarus Protocol shattered. And then… I want to rebuild the world he tried to ruin. Without ghosts. Without war. Without him.”

“You want power,” Isabelle said flatly.

“I want freedom,” Luca countered. “Same as you.”

A long silence.

Then Isabelle looked at Dante. “We’ll decide after we see the core.”

Luca nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

He climbed back into his SUV.

The convoy cleared.

Theo exhaled. “This is spiraling.”

Isabelle pocketed the drive. “No. It’s clarifying.”

Dante raised an eyebrow.

She met his gaze. “We finally know who our enemies are. All of them.”

---

As they boarded the small black jet that would take them across borders into the final storm, Isabelle looked out the window and whispered to herself:

“No more running.”

And beside her, Dante nodded in silent agreement.

Because now, they had everything to fight for.

And nothing left to lose.