VOWS AND VENDETTAS

CHAPTER 1: THE DEVIL WILL SEE YOU NOW MIRIAM’S POV I shouldn’t be here. God, I knew that. But I was already past the point of no return. The DeLuca estate towered ahead like a goddamn cathedral of sin. Everything about it said leave, and still I stood there, phone clenched in my sweaty palm, and my heart hammering so hard I swore it echoed in my ears. They called it the Devil’s Den. And the man inside? The Devil himself. But I honestly didn't care now. The security slot creaked open in front of me like something out of a horror film, and someone stuck his face out. He didn’t speak right away, he just looked at me—top to bottom, like I was a thing. Not a girl…not a human. Just another stupid soul walking into the lion’s mouth. “Name.” The voice was cold flat. Coming from an intercom or something like that. “Miriam. Miriam Von Ryan. I—I have an appointment with Mr. DeLuca.” I hated how my voice cracked. His brows lifted, just slightly. Maybe surprised I made it this far. Then he pressed a button. The black iron gates then creaked open, slowly and heavily. He was standing before me now. Tall, thickset, and wearing an expression that didn’t move. He motioned for me to come along and I followed. The compound was massive. White pebbles crunched under my shoes as we passed tall water fountains shaped like wolves with blood in their mouths. A well trimmed garden that looked like they’d been cut with surgical precision, and white roses…God they were beautiful. Everything screamed money and menace. Theme: Definitely luxury soaked in violence. The front doors opened without a sound, and the inside nearly stole my breath. Polished marble floors and the chandeliers looked like they cost more than my old life. Servants…dozens of them, watched me as I passed. Not with kindness or curiosity. But like they were all waiting for someone to snap their fingers and toss me back out. I kept my chin up, but it felt fake. I didn’t feel like the confident Miriam Von Ryan. I felt like a girl who’d hit rock bottom and started digging. He led me through a long corridor. Then stopped at a door. “Wait here.” He slipped inside. Seconds passed. Maybe minutes and then the door creaked open again. “He’ll see you.” I stepped inside. The first thing I saw was the black leather chair, turned away from me, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. A man sat in it, in his hand was a glass of whiskey, or was it scotch? I didn't know and honestly didn't care. “Sit.” Was that his voice? It felt like God himself just spoke to me, but this had no mercy…no grace. Just raw power. One wrong move, and I could’ve been ashes on the floor. I kept my eyes low and sat, perching on the edge of the chair like it might bite me. My hands were clasped so tight they hurt and I didn’t dare look up. I knew who he was. Knew what he could do. They said Damon DeLuca slit a man’s throat once for speaking too loudly in his presence. That he buried his enemies standing upright, so they never knew rest. That he didn’t just run Miami—he owned it. “Miriam Von Ryan. Born August sixteenth, 2002. Five foot one. Daughter of Othello and Shelby Von Ryan. Once heir to P&B Industries. Now? Just another pretty face working for scraps.” I blinked once, then again,I had no idea what I was even doing, letting this play out in my head. What the hell was I thinking, coming here? Was it his voice? Maybe it was deeper than I’d imagined. But that wasn’t what got me. It was the way he knew me. Not just the surface facts…tno, it was deeper than that. Like he’d peeled back the layers of who I used to be and laid me bare in the room “Seems you’ve done your homework, and now you know everything about me,” I muttered before I could stop myself. My eyes widened, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, shocked at my own outburst, at the audacity of it. God, what was I thinking? Speaking like that to him? The room went still after that…so still it felt like time had stopped. I couldn't help it as a sick thought crept in: was he about to pull a gun and blow my brains out? His chair creaked and I swore my heart skipped a beat. He turned. And I saw him. Damon DeLuca. He was younger than the rumors said. But colder and harder. He looked at me. It was like being pulled into a black hole. Dark hair like ink, slicked back from a face carved by gods with grudges. His expression was unreadable…but his eyes? Those eyes. Sharp blue eyes, cold enough to freeze your pulse. The kind of blue that didn’t just watch you…but saw straight through you. Like they were built to haunt, not comfort. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes never left mine. “I know a lot of things, but not everything,” he simply said, and I swallowed. “What I don’t know is why a little princess came crawling into my den. Daddy didn’t tell you the price of dealing with men like me?” “My father’s dead. He didn’t warn me about men like you.” He studied me for a second. Then smiled. It wasn’t kind. “Good.That means you’re stupid or desperate. Either works for me,” he dropped the glass on the table. “I’m here because... I need help.” “No. You’re here because you’ve got nothing left to lose.” I blinked away the sting in my eyes. “Why exactly are you here, Miriam?” he asked, almost bored. "I'm here for something important," I blurted. He leaned back slightly, as his eyes narrowed like I’d just told a joke. “Important?” he scoffed. “Sweetheart, the only thing I care about right now is something warm and obedient on its knees. That’s my kind of important.” “This isn’t a joke. I’m not some bored socialite playing hitman fantasy,” I said, chin up high. Was I scared? Absolutely. Did I regret coming here? Not for a second. Because I knew I wasn’t here for favors. He stood and walked around the desk. He then stopped in front of me. Close. Too close. Every nerve in my body went on high alert. His nearness wasn’t just physical—it was overwhelming, like heat and danger wrapped in silence. I knew I should concentrate more on slowing my heartbeat but it was to no avail. “You walked into the devil’s lair in a designer dress, shaking like a kitten, and you think I believe you came for some innocent little visit? Spare me the performance. Girls like you don’t crawl into places like this unless they’re desperate for something.” His voice totally deepened, “So what is it, princess? A favor? Protection? Or are you just lost?” I forced myself to look up. “I want someone dead.” I said. This time louder. “And I want you to do it.” His lips parted, just slightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”