Vows of Vengeance

Chapter 10: Rain, Rage, and Rebellion

Chapter 10: Rain, Rage, and Rebellion

****Dante’s Point of View****

The rain was relentless.

Not the kind that gently kissed the earth. This was a storm that tore at everything, soaked you to the bone, and didn’t care what secrets it unearthed.

I stood in front of the abandoned church—its stone face cracked with age, its bell long silenced. Water ran down my neck, plastering my shirt to my skin. My heart beat like a war drum in my chest.

Because he was here.

Luca Moretti.

The man who once promised to marry Isabelle. The man who once called her his.

The man who now wanted her back—or wanted her dead.

The wind howled through the broken stained-glass windows. Thunder cracked overhead. It was the kind of night made for blood.

I saw him step through the rusted gates like he owned the world. Black coat flapping in the wind, hair slick from the rain. His eyes locked on mine like a predator.

“Vale,” he said, voice smooth, cold.

“Moretti.”

He stopped a few paces away. Neither of us moved closer.

“She’s with you now,” he said.

“I didn’t steal her.”

He smiled, cruel. “No. But you broke her.”

“I didn’t—”

“She used to believe in things,” he snapped, stepping forward. “She used to feel. Now she’s a weapon. And you turned her into that.”

“No,” I growled. “Victor did. You helped.”

“And you think you’re different?” he asked, voice rising with the wind. “You think you’re her savior?”

“I don’t want to save her,” I said. “I want to stand beside her. Can you say the same?”

He didn’t answer.

Lightning split the sky.

And then he lunged.

I barely ducked his fist. It grazed my jaw, pain bursting behind my eye. I retaliated with a blow to his ribs, sending him stumbling into a tombstone half-buried in weeds.

We fought like men who had nothing left to lose.

Fists.

Feet.

Rain.

Memories.

I slammed him against the church door, wood cracking behind him. He grabbed my shirt, yanked me forward, and headbutted me. I tasted blood.

“You think she loves you?” he snarled. “You’re a ghost! A walking vendetta!”

I shoved him back.

“And what are you? A memory she regrets?”

He pulled a gun.

I didn’t flinch. I stared down the barrel like I’d stared down a thousand deaths before.

“She’s not yours,” I said, voice low. “She was never anyone’s.”

He hesitated. Just for a breath. That was all I needed.

I grabbed his wrist, twisted the weapon from his hand, and drove my fist into his gut. He dropped to one knee, coughing.

“I should kill you,” I said.

“But you won’t,” he spat.

“Why?”

“Because she’s watching.”

I turned.

And there she was.

Isabelle.

Standing beneath the archway, soaked to the skin, hair whipping in the wind, eyes wide with fury and heartbreak.

“Dante,” she said softly.

I lowered the gun.

“She doesn’t need this,” she said. “Not tonight.”

Luca stood slowly.

“She needs to choose,” he growled.

“I already have,” she whispered.

Neither of us moved. The church loomed behind her like a silent witness. The rain poured harder.

She walked toward me, placing a hand on my chest.

“I’m done with the past,” she said. “I’m done being someone else’s weapon.”

Then she looked at Luca.

“I loved you once,” she said. “But it wasn’t real. Not like this.”

His face twisted—not in rage. In something sadder.

Loss.

“I would’ve burned the world for you,” he whispered.

“I don’t want the world burned,” she replied. “I want it rebuilt.”

He didn’t argue.

He simply nodded once, turned, and walked into the storm.

---

Inside the church, we found a moment’s peace.

Candles from a forgotten prayer box still lit easily. We sat in silence, the warmth of the flame a strange comfort after so much violence.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” I asked.

“Luca?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at the candlelight flickering across her hands.

“He already left.”

“Physically.”

She didn’t answer.

I took her hand. “He’s not the only one who’d burn the world for you.”

She looked up, tears brimming.

“I don’t need a savior, Dante.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But maybe I need someone to save me.”

She leaned her head against mine.

And in that broken, sacred place, we dared to believe we still had something worth fighting for.

****Isabelle’s Point of View****

The rain had always meant something different to me.

When I was a child, it was safety—something to drown the arguments in the Raze household, something to cover my cries. When I was older, it meant rebirth. A way to rinse away blood, sins, lies. Now? It was nothing but noise. Background to the chaos.

I watched them from the broken threshold of the church, a silhouette caught between two flames. One man represented my past—the polished heir of another empire, the one I was supposed to stand beside in front of hundreds of witnesses. The other… the other was Dante Vale. Chaos incarnate. Fire in a suit. War with a heart.

Lightning lit the scene before me like a photograph. They were circling each other, two lions locked in a dance that could only end with blood.

Part of me wanted to scream at them to stop. But another part of me knew they needed this. It wasn’t about me anymore. Not entirely. It was about power. About control. About who I had become—and what they’d lost in the process.

Dante was faster. He always was. Brutal and strategic, like he’d memorized Luca’s every weakness. But Luca was no fool. His moves were sharp, rooted in training—not the streets, but old-world refinement. Combat taught in cold marble halls.

The moment Dante disarmed him, I saw Luca falter for the first time. He wasn’t used to losing. Not to anyone. Especially not to a man like Dante.

And then…

He said it.

“She needs to choose.”

It felt like the entire storm paused.

Dante turned to me, his shoulders heaving, soaked and shaking. The barrel of the gun still pointed low. But it was the look in his eyes that made my breath catch.

He didn’t want to win. He wanted to understand.

And Luca…

Luca wanted to believe he still had a place in my story.

I stepped into the rain.

The chill bit into my bones, but I barely felt it. My eyes stayed locked on Dante’s. My heart was screaming and silent all at once.

“Dante,” I whispered, placing my hand over his chest. His heart thudded beneath my fingers. Wild. Real.

He lowered the gun.

“She doesn’t need this,” I said.

And then I turned to Luca.

My voice didn’t shake. “I loved you once.”

He flinched. That single sentence shattered him more than any bullet.

“But it wasn’t real. Not like this.”

Luca looked like he wanted to argue. To scream. To deny it. But instead, all he said was:

“I would’ve burned the world for you.”

And it was that honesty—that unfiltered ache—that finally made me feel the weight of what I’d done.

Of what I was choosing.

“I don’t want the world burned,” I said. “I want it rebuilt.”

He nodded. Once. Then turned and walked away.

And just like that, a chapter of my life ended.

---

The church smelled like damp earth and candlewax. We lit what remained of a prayer circle, silent as our shadows flickered across the worn pews.

Dante was the first to break it.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Luca?” I replied.

He nodded.

“He already left.”

“Physically.”

I didn’t answer.

Because the truth was—I didn’t know. Luca was made of pride, not surrender. I had just cracked his foundation. He wouldn’t forgive it quickly. Maybe not ever.

But what mattered now wasn’t Luca’s grief.

It was Dante’s loyalty.

He took my hand in his, warm despite everything. “He’s not the only one who’d burn the world for you.”

I blinked away the tears. “I don’t need a savior, Dante.”

“I know,” he said. “But maybe I need someone to save me.”

And maybe I could.

For the first time in years, I believed I could be something other than a shadow.

---

Later that night, after we’d warmed ourselves, I stepped into one of the side chapels alone.

It was smaller, intimate. An altar with a faded cloth. A cracked crucifix above it. The candles flickered, making it seem like the eyes of the carved saints followed me.

I dropped to my knees.

I wasn’t religious. Hadn’t been since the first mission Victor sent me on—the one where I watched a mother bleed out beside her infant daughter.

But I needed to say something. Even if it was to a cracked ceiling and an indifferent God.

“I don’t know what you are. Or if you’re there,” I whispered. “But if you’re listening, don’t save me. Save him.”

I paused.

“Save Dante. From this war. From the rage. From the guilt.”

My fingers gripped the edge of the altar. “I dragged him into this. I made him love a monster.”

A soft sound behind me made me turn.

Dante stood there, quiet.

“I don’t love a monster,” he said. “I love a fighter. And I’ve never needed saving.”

I stood slowly.

He took my hands. “You once said you chose me. Remember?”

I nodded.

“Well now, I’m choosing you. All of you. The broken, the brutal, the brilliant.”

I choked on a laugh. “That’s a lot of B’s.”

He grinned. “I’ve got more.”

Then he kissed me—slow and reverent and infinite.

---

When we left the church, the rain had stopped.

But I knew the real storm was just beginning.

The Lazarus Core.

Victor’s trap.

Luca’s silence.

And the past that never stayed buried.

But this time, I wouldn’t run.

This time, I’d burn it down—on my terms.

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

The manor was hidden in the hills beyond the Syndicate’s core territory, cloaked behind generations of blood money and iron gates. Victor Raze didn’t like to visit his father’s estate, but tonight was different. Tonight, the past had teeth. And the future was sharpening them.

The foyer was colder than it should’ve been, despite the roaring fire in the hearth. Tall windows stretched to the ceiling, casting warped reflections on the polished marble floor. Guards stood at silent attention by every entrance. There were no paintings on the walls—just blank, ancient stone. The Raze family never had a history worth remembering.

Victor didn’t flinch as he walked down the corridor. His steps echoed against the emptiness. He wasn’t here for sentiment. He was here for business.

Waiting in the drawing room was a man just as powerful and twice as poisonous.

Luca’s father.

Alessandro Moretti.

He rose when Victor entered, his suit flawless, his silver hair slicked back in an ageless style. His face was lean, skin weathered, but his eyes burned with the same fire that once raised an empire.

“Victor,” he greeted, like they were old friends sharing cigars over a chessboard.

“Alessandro.”

They didn’t shake hands.

Victor remained standing, his posture calculating, his mind already sprinting.

“I hear Luca’s been… active,” Victor began.

Alessandro arched an eyebrow. “My son is passionate. He believes in legacies. In loyalty.”

“He believes in disobedience.”

The older man smiled faintly. “Which is why he isn’t sitting in this room.”

Victor allowed a breath to slip through his teeth. “He’s aligning with Vale and Isabelle. That makes him a liability.”

“No,” Alessandro said calmly. “It makes him emotional.”

Victor paced slowly, running his fingers along the edge of a marble bust. “We both know what happens when emotion gets in the way of power.”

Alessandro crossed the room and poured two glasses of bourbon. He handed one to Victor. “You didn’t come here for warnings. You came for permission.”

Victor didn’t take the drink.

“I came for strategy.”

Alessandro sipped his bourbon, unfazed. “You want Luca removed.”

“I want all of them gone.”

Victor leaned in slightly. “Dante Vale. Isabelle Raze. Luca, if he doesn’t fall in line.”

Alessandro swirled the glass. “You do realize how messy that will be?”

Victor’s voice was ice. “I’m done playing with fire. It’s time to incinerate.”

There was a pause. Alessandro studied him.

“I can arrange a cleansing,” he said slowly. “But it has to be clean. Surgical. No explosions. No civilian fallout. No questions from the council.”

Victor nodded. “I have a plan. They’re headed to the Columba site. Let them believe they’ve found the Lazarus core. Let them walk into it.”

“You’ll rig it?”

“Better. I’ll let it fail. I’ve already moved the core. What’s left there is a decoy—just enough power to trigger a blackout, collapse the systems inside, and leave them isolated.”

“And then?”

“I’ll send in a clean team. Quiet. Untraceable.”

Alessandro took another sip. “And Luca?”

Victor’s eyes glinted. “He’s your problem.”

There was a long, heavy silence.

Then Alessandro finally said, “I’ll handle it.”

Victor exhaled. “Good.”

He finally picked up the bourbon and tossed it back in one gulp.

As he turned to leave, Alessandro said, “Victor.”

The younger man paused.

“She used to be your daughter.”

Victor didn’t turn. “She was never mine. She was a weapon. And like all weapons… she’s replaceable.”

He walked out, coat swaying behind him like a curtain closing on a play.

---

Miles away, in a surveillance van hidden beneath a parking garage, an operator pressed a trembling finger against his earpiece.

He’d been monitoring encrypted signals bouncing between Syndicate servers and covert military lines.

Until now, everything had been noise.

But what he’d just heard made his blood run cold.

He clicked into the emergency channel.

“This is Echo Base,” he whispered. “We’ve got confirmation. Raze is moving on the Columba site. It’s a setup.”

Static.

Then a voice responded:

“Send the warning. Now.”

---

Back in the city, Elijah Raze sat in the dim light of a subterranean hacker den. Screens flickered all around him—codes, satellite feeds, corrupted security loops. He had just cracked open a sequence Matteo had buried deep within Lazarus’s core encryption.

And what he saw made him go still.

It wasn’t just a trap for Dante and Isabelle.

It was a kill switch.

One that would wipe not only the Lazarus code but every person linked to it.

Victor wasn’t just cleaning house.

He was deleting the legacy.

Elijah cursed under his breath and slammed a fist onto the keyboard.

“Dammit, Victor.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He opened a secure channel.

“Isabelle. Dante. If you’re hearing this… get out. The Columba site is compromised. Repeat, it’s compromised.”

He paused.

“And Isabelle—he never planned to let you live. Not even in the beginning.”

He sent the file.

Then grabbed his gear.

He was going to Estonia.

---

The storm that had cloaked the city in darkness wasn’t over. It was just changing shape. The eye was passing. What came next would be destruction.

Victor returned to his headquarters, unbothered by the chill, the tension, the thousand unsaid things on his soldiers’ faces. He passed through the security scan, greeted by a silent bow from his most trusted lieutenant.

The man handed him a fresh dossier.

It contained the newest intel from the Columba facility.

“They’re almost there,” the lieutenant reported.

Victor nodded. “Good.”

“What of the extraction unit?”

“They’re already en route. Surgical team only. No explosives.”

“Perfect.”

The lieutenant hesitated. “And the secondary protocol?”

Victor smirked. “Activated. If they survive the collapse, the virus will wipe them out from the inside.”

No emotion crossed his face.

It was just math to him now.

Input. Output. Cleansing.

He walked into his office and closed the door.

And finally, for a moment, allowed himself to smile.

Because victory wasn’t always in the kill shot.

Sometimes, it was in letting the enemy believe they had won.

Just long enough…

To fall.