THE PRICE OF THE VOW : The Mafia Don

✓BELLA The rain is a relentless, cold lie. They say time heals, but they lied. Three years later, the chill in the air still feels exactly like the chill in my bones. I stand before the headstone, the granite slick with rain and grief. Victor Romano. Beloved Father. The words are a cruel joke in this cemetery tucked away in Queens. My father wasn't beloved; he was feared. And he wasn't killed by time, but by a bullet. I close my eyes. I still hear the gunshot that ended his life, echoing in the polished silence of our Manhattan penthouse. I still wake up screaming his name, my throat raw with regret. I still want revenge. That craving is the only warmth left in my life. I kneel in the mud, carefully arranging the wilting lilies. Black dress clings uncomfortably to my skin. The Romano family is gone, decimated by the very war my father tried to control. The empire he built is now reduced to a crumbling legacy and a single, unprotected daughter. Me. A heavy shadow falls over me, blocking the miserable November light. I look up, expecting to see a guard, or maybe just the groundskeeper. Instead, I see Uncle Lorenzo. He holds a massive black umbrella, shielding himself meticulously from the rain. He looks the part of the grieving relative, silver hair and tailored coat, but his eyes are flat. "Bella. You shouldn't be out here alone," he murmurs, his voice raspy. I stand up, brushing mud from my skirt. "Where else would I be, Uncle? This is where my life ended." He frowns, stepping closer. "It's time your life began again. We're in danger." "We've always been in danger." He shakes his head, glancing nervously toward the cemetery gates. "Worse now. The Volkovs are moving on our territory. The Chen family is circling. They smell the blood in the water." My jaw tightens. I knew things were bad, but not this bad. "The truth is," he whispers, leaning in, "there is no protection left. The few cousins still alive are fleeing. You're the last of Victor's line." My breath hitches. Alone. I am completely and utterly alone. "I have something, Bella. A way out. " He opens his umbrella wider, engulfing me in the damp, heavy space beneath it. His next words land like a blow to the chest. "You have to marry Dante Caruso." The wind is ripped from my lungs. I gasp, stumbling back a step. "No. Absolutely not." My voice is cold and sharp, a lawyer's denial. "He killed my father, Lorenzo. He ordered the hit. He's the monster who destroyed our family." Lorenzo grips my arm, his fingers surprisingly strong. "And now, that monster offers peace. Ironic, isn't it?" I stare at him in disbelief. "I'd rather burn." "You will burn, child. Slowly, painfully, watching everyone you care about die first. Or you accept his protection. The Commission demands this marriage alliance to end the feud." He forces me to look at the truth: ...my options are death or marriage. "Your father would want you alive, Bella," Lorenzo says, using the final, most manipulative card he holds. "He would want you to survive this. To take the name of the enemy and live." ~~~ The idea is repugnant. Marrying the killer to survive? It’s a twist of fate so dark it should be illegal. Suddenly, a massive, armored black SUV, flanked by two other vehicles, pulls up silently to the cemetery curb. The convoy is unmistakable. The metal gleams, expensive and deadly. A large man, moving with predatory grace, steps out of the back. Every single mourner still lingering near the gates scatters instantly, terrified by his mere presence. …Dante Caruso. He is taller than I remember, broader across the chest. His tailored Italian suit is immaculate, utterly untouched by the rain or the misery of this place. He crosses the wet lawn like he owns every blade of grass, eyes locked on me. He radiates danger and absolute control. He stops directly in front of us, utterly ignoring Lorenzo. His black eyes, dark as polished onyx, pierce right through my professional façade, seeing the terrified, revenge-fueled girl beneath. He is handsome like the devil himself–chiseled features, a strong jaw, and a dangerous stillness that promises violence. Lorenzo clears his throat, breaking the suffocating silence. "Don Caruso, my niece" "I know who she is," Dante's voice cuts in. It's deep, smooth, like expensive whiskey mixed with smoke. It commands attention. I lift my chin, refusing to shrink under his gaze. "I know who you are, too. Murderer." His lips quirk into a ghost of a smile, a chilling, practiced thing. "Among other things." He pulls a folded paper from his inner jacket pocket–a clean, formal document, shielded carefully from the rain. "Your uncle explained the arrangement," he states, not asking a question. I hold my ground. "I'm not merchandise, Mr. Caruso. I am a person. A lawyer." "No," he corrects me, his voice soft but lethal. "You're payment. Payment for the blood debt your father owed me." The cruelty of his honesty is staggering. He opens the contract just enough for me to see the bold, black print: …..MARRIAGE AGREEMENT. "You have forty-eight hours, Miss Romano. Sign this, and you live under my protection. You become my wife. You inherit my power." He lets the threat hang in the damp air. Refuse... I snap. All my carefully constructed lawyer's cool evaporates. I spit, the glob of saliva landing directly on the expensive leather of his Italian shoe. A ripple goes through his security detail. A bodyguard moves instantly, hand sliding toward his weapon. Dante simply raises a hand, a tiny, dismissive gesture that stops the man cold. He looks down at the spot where I defiled his shoe, then back to my face. His eyes hold no anger, only a terrifying curiosity. "Fire," he says, a strange, low amusement in his tone. "I like that. It will make the breaking more satisfying." He turns to leave, the crisp lines of his coat parting as he moves. He stops, looking over his shoulder one last time. "Choose life, Isabella. Or choose war. But know this—I always win." ~~~ The heavy black SUV pulls away, leaving me shaking in the cold. Lorenzo steps closer, his voice urgent. "He will kill you if you refuse. And he'll enjoy it." I look down at my father's grave. Run, his last word had been. I didn't understand it then. Maybe living as his wife is worse than death. But I won't join you yet, Papa. Forgive me. I look at Lorenzo, determination hardening my features. "I'll do it." "Good." He smiles, relieved. "But I'll make him regret ever touching our family. I’m not just signing a contract, Uncle. I’m planning his destruction."