VOWS AND VENDETTAS

CHAPTER 2: RED IS NOT BEAUTIFUL ANYMORE

CHAPTER 2: RED IS NOT BEAUTIFUL ANYMORE

FLASHBACK – MIRIAM’S POV

Age 6

I used to think velvet was beautiful.

The way it shimmered beneath the light. The way my mother smoothed it down on me like I was porcelain, not a person. The way it made me feel like something rare. Precious.

Now I can’t even look at red without tasting blood.

That night…I remembered her perfume more than anything…roses and danger, if that makes sense. It clung to her hair, her dress, her voice. That night, it clung to me too.

“Hold still, princess, your father’s already making us late,” she whispered, fixing the little bow at the back.

I turned toward the mirror and saw him…my dad, tugging at his tie. Always more charming than necessary, preparing to dazzle the entire damn city at the fundraiser. That was just who he was. He smiled at me through the reflection, then leaned over and kissed the top of my head.

“One more year, and you’ll be old enough to attend the fundraiser too," he said.

They were that kind of couple—beautiful and untouchable. I thought they were invincible.

We took a casual photo with mom's phone, a moment we didn’t know was our last.

Then the crash came.

It came from downstairs.

Dad’s face changed immediately. He didn’t say a word. He simply walked toward the door. I could remember his cufflinks were still undone.

“Stay here,” he said over his shoulder.

But he never came back.

My mother turned to me…her face now pale.

“Miriam,” she said, grabbing my face. “Go. The closet. Don’t come out until I say so.”

But I didn’t listen.

I heard the first scream before I even reached the door. Followed by gunshots…not one. Not two. More than I could count on my little fingers.

My mother grabbed my shoulders so hard I felt her nails through the fabric. “Now.”

I ran…but not far.

I left the door cracked, just wide enough to see.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My feet were blocks of stone. I could only watch as she grabbed the dagger from the drawer, the small silver one she kept hidden.

She was about to go after him when the men came in.

Three men, dressed in black. Blood already on their sleeves like it followed them from wherever they’d been before this. One of them holding something…something red and wet.

She screamed a name…“Hildagos!” But I didn’t know who that was. Maybe one of them. Maybe all of them. Then she ran straight at them, like a mother who had nothing left to lose.

She stabbed the first man in the chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. The sound was so sickening. He dropped.

She raised the dagger up again, but she didn’t make it to the fourth stab.

Bang.

I heard it, loud and sharp. Then nothing.

She froze mid-breath, as her arm fell slack. The dagger dropped, hitting the floor with a quiet clink that somehow made me flinch harder than the gunshot. Her head turned just slightly, like she was about to look at me, but she never made it that far.

The blood from her head moved slow…too slow. Like even gravity didn’t want to let her go.

She dropped to her knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Then to the floor.

Velvet and blood and everything I loved—all on the same damn floor.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run to her. But I couldn’t move.

I watched from the crack between the doors. My tiny fingers over my mouth, as my chest rose so fast I thought it would explode. I watched as the men stood over her body. One of them stared at her body for a long moment, and then fast-forward to the closest. He immediately spotted me.

“There’s the girl,” he said, gun already rising as they all turned in my direction. Honestly, if there was any emotion left in me, it sure as hell wasn’t fear. It felt like I was staring death in the eye…and I didn’t even flinch.

“She’s too young,” one of them muttered.

“She saw everything,” the third added.

The man holding the gun paused.

Then he said it—words I still hear in my sleep.

“Let her live. That’s the punishment.”

And just like that… They walked out.

Left me alive. Drenched in silence... and ...and blood.

I crawled out of the closet like a ghost.

And I stared at her.

Her eyes were open, and mouth slightly parted. One hand still outstretched like she’d died reaching for me.

That was the first time I tasted grief.

The kind that doesn’t fade but festers.

The kind that turns soft girls into sharp women.

The kind that makes you want to kiss someone just to feel alive—

Or kill someone just to make it stop.

PRESENT – MIRIAM

“Are you certain it was the Hildagos?” he asked, not looking at me, just swirling the glass in his hand like my answer didn’t matter.

“It’s them. I’ve spent seventeen years putting the pieces together," I said without blinking.

He finally looked up, the corner of his mouth curling in something too sharp to be a smile.

“Seventeen years. That’s a long time to stay angry, sweetheart," he echoed.

He then rose from the edge of the table where he sat beside me and walked to the little bar at the far end of the room.

He poured two fingers of scotch, took a slow sip, then turned back to me.

“Let’s talk numbers.”

“Fifty thousand,” I immediately said.

He laughed…quiet and cruel.

“You think I’m some street thug you can bargain with?” He walked toward me, slowly. “This isn’t a favor, bella. It’s blood work. And blood... doesn’t come cheap.”

He leaned in.

“A hundred grand. Non-negotiable. You want bodies? That’s the price.”

I hesitated for the briefest moment.

Then nodded. “Fine.”

He smirked, finally satisfied. “Smart girl.”

The door then opened without a knock.

One of his men stepped inside with sharp eyes.

“Boss,” he said. “We got a message. From the Hildagos.”