Owned by the Oath

Chapter 1: The Deal The warehouse smells like rust and despair, a cold tang that clings to my skin as I kneel on the concrete floor. My wrists burn where the ropes bite into them, but I keep my chin high, staring into the icy blue eyes of Luciano Virelli. The Don of the Virelli syndicate stands like a dark god, his tailored black suit sharp against the flickering light of a single bulb overhead. His face is all angles—scarred jaw, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that could seduce or destroy. His hands, crisscrossed with old scars, flex at his sides, and I wonder if they’ll be the ones to end me. “Isabella De Luca,” he says, his voice low, laced with an Italian accent that sends a shiver down my spine despite the fear clawing my chest. “Daughter of a traitor. You know why you’re here.” I swallow, my throat dry as sandpaper. My father’s face flashes in my mind—his warm smile, the way he’d ruffle my hair before he vanished into the night, working for the cartel. Then, the blood-soaked memory of his body, riddled with bullets, because he betrayed the Virellis. Now, I’m here, and so is Matteo, my little brother, somewhere in this godforsaken place, probably terrified. I have to get us out. “I know,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You think I’m like him. I’m not.” Luciano steps closer, his polished shoes clicking on the concrete. He’s tall—over six feet, towering over me even as I kneel. His presence sucks the air from the room, and I hate how my pulse quickens, not just from fear. There’s something about him, something dangerous and alive, that makes my skin prickle. “You think you can talk your way out of this?” He crouches, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my cheek. “Your father sold us out to the cartel. Cost us men, money, blood. And you, bella, are collateral.” “Don’t call me that,” I snap, glaring into his eyes. They’re like glaciers, cold but burning with something I can’t name. “I’m not your bella. I’m not your anything.” A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips. “Oh, you will be.” My stomach twists, but I don’t look away. “Where’s Matteo? My brother. He’s just a kid. Whatever you want with me, leave him out of it.” Luciano straightens, his smile fading. He nods to a man in the shadows—a lean guy with slicked-back hair and a snake tattoo peeking from his cuff. Marco, his second-in-command, I’m guessing. Marco’s green eyes rake over me, and I feel like a mouse under a hawk’s gaze. He steps into the light, dragging Matteo by the arm. My brother’s face is pale, his dark hair messy, his hoodie torn. He’s only nineteen, still lanky, still my baby brother who used to beg me for extra cookies. “Isabella!” Matteo’s voice cracks, and he lunges toward me, but Marco yanks him back. “Let him go!” I shout, straining against the ropes. My wrists sting, but I don’t care. “He’s got nothing to do with this!” Luciano raises a hand, and Marco stops, though his grip on Matteo tightens. “Your brother’s life,” Luciano says, his voice smooth as velvet, “depends on you. I’m a reasonable man, Isabella. I don’t kill for sport. But justice? That’s another matter.” “Reasonable?” I scoff, my heart pounding. “You’re a monster. Everyone knows what you do to your enemies’ women. Turn them into your… pets.” The word tastes like bile, but I spit it out, hoping to provoke him, to see what he’s planning. His eyes darken, but that smile returns, sharper now. “You’ve heard the stories. Good. Then you know I get what I want.” He leans in again, his voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “And right now, I want you.” My breath catches, and I hate my body for reacting—heat pooling low in my belly, even as fear claws at my heart. “What do you want?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Just tell me.” He steps back, crossing his arms, his scars catching the light. “A deal. Thirty nights. You give yourself to me—completely. Body, mind, soul. No resistance, no lies. In return, your brother lives. Refuse, and you both die tonight.” The words hit like a punch. Thirty nights. My mind races, picturing what that means—his hands on me, his voice commanding me, my freedom stripped away. But Matteo’s wide, terrified eyes lock on mine, and I know I have no choice. Not yet. I need time to find a way out, to figure out what really happened to Papa. There’s more to his death, I can feel it, and Luciano’s the key. “Define completely,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not signing up to be your slave.” Marco snorts, but Luciano silences him with a glance. “Not a slave,” Luciano says. “A partner, in a way. You’ll live in my home, follow my rules, and…” He pauses, his gaze raking over me, lingering on my curves. “Satisfy my needs. In return, Matteo stays safe. You have my word.” “Your word?” I laugh, bitter. “The word of a man who kills for a living? Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” “Trust is earned,” he says, unfazed. “But survival? That’s a choice. Make it now, Isabella.” I look at Matteo, his face pale, his hands trembling. He’s all I have left. Papa’s gone, Mama’s long dead, and this world of blood and betrayal is all we know. But I’m not just a victim. I’ve spent years learning to fight, to read people, to survive. I can play Luciano’s game, turn it against him. Find the truth about Papa, get Matteo out, and maybe burn this syndicate to the ground. “Fine,” I say, my voice hard. “Thirty nights. But if you touch Matteo, I’ll kill you myself.” Luciano’s smile is pure predator. “I like your fire, bella. It’ll make this… interesting.” “Stop calling me that,” I snap, but my heart’s racing, and not just from anger. There’s something in his eyes—hunger, yes, but also a flicker of something human, something broken. It throws me off, makes me wonder what lies beneath the Don’s mask. He nods to Marco. “Untie her. Take the boy to the safehouse. No marks, no mistakes.” Marco hesitates, his smirk fading. “You sure about this, boss? She’s trouble. I can smell it.” “Do I look unsure?” Luciano’s tone is ice, and Marco flinches, releasing Matteo. My brother stumbles toward me, but Luciano steps between us, his hand on my arm, firm but not cruel. “Not yet,” he says to Matteo. “You’ll see her when I say so.” “Isabella, don’t do this!” Matteo shouts, his voice breaking. “I can handle myself!” “No, you can’t,” I say, my throat tight. “Just stay alive, okay? For me.” Marco drags Matteo away, and I fight the urge to scream. Luciano’s grip tightens, pulling me to my feet. My legs wobble, but I stand tall, refusing to show weakness. He’s close now, his scent—leather, cedar, and something darker—filling my senses. “You’re mine now,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Let’s see how long that fire lasts.” He leads me out of the warehouse, his hand on my lower back, guiding me like I’m already his. The night air hits me, cool and sharp, as we step into the upstate New York darkness. A black SUV waits, its engine humming, and I catch a glimpse of the city lights in the distance. His estate, he said. A fortress. My new cage. We slide into the backseat, and he’s silent, his presence overwhelming in the tight space. I glance at him, his profile sharp against the window, and my mind races. I need a plan, a way to dig into his world, find out who betrayed Papa. But my body’s betraying me, too—his nearness, his intensity, sparking something I don’t want to name. “Scared yet?” he asks, not looking at me. I lean closer, my voice a whisper. “You don’t scare me, Luciano. You need me alive, remember? That makes me dangerous.” He turns, his eyes locking on mine, and for a moment, I see it again—that flicker of something raw, something real. “Dangerous,” he repeats, almost to himself. “We’ll see.” The SUV pulls up to a massive gate, iron and imposing, flanked by armed guards. Beyond it, a dark marble estate looms, its windows glowing like eyes in the night. My new prison. My new battlefield. As we step out, a guard approaches, his face tense. “Boss,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “We got a problem. Marco just called. The boy—Matteo—he’s gone. Vanished from the safehouse.” My heart stops, and Luciano’s hand tightens on my arm, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, gone?” The guard swallows. “The safehouse was hit. Cartel. They left a message—‘Santino sends his regards.’” I freeze, my blood turning to ice. Santino. A name from Papa’s past, one he whispered in fear. Luciano’s face is a mask of fury, but his eyes meet mine, and I see the question there, the suspicion. My world tilts, and I know—nothing about this deal, this night, this man, is what it seems.