Blood and Oaths

CHAPTER TWO.

Love is the sin that sentenced her to hell. He was danger wrapped in desire. And she was foolish enough to crave both.

Istanbul, 8years ago.

The night was unusually quiet save for the squeaking of crickets. The house was empty, and the servants had retreated back to their quarters. Amina adjusted the thin straps of her black satin dress and glanced at her phone. No missed calls. No messages. Not that she expected any. Her father was on a business trip in Rome and was likely buried in files or nursing his usual glass of pistachio coffee while barking orders at men twice his size. She’d begged to come along, but he had said no. He always said no. Her father hated the idea of her going out. For your own safety, he said.

So, she stayed behind. And like any other eighteen-year-old bored out of her mind in a palace too big for her, she snuck out.

She climbed off the railing and hid in a bush. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to make a plan on how to escape the security light and cameras on the lawn.

Once she saw an opening, she ran past them towards the wall at the back of the mansion. She climbed it with stealth before running to her friend’s car that was waiting for her.

The party was at a 5-star hotel rooftop in the heart of the city. It was wild and filled with kids from elite families playing pretend rebel, dancing to music they didn’t even like, sipping expensive champagne like it was apple juice.

Amina didn’t fit in—not really. She couldn’t fit in with them, but she was there anyway, looking for something. Maybe escape. Maybe rebellion. Maybe just a good night away from the weight of her last name and her father.

After a while, she grew tired of watching her so-called friend riding a guy. She decided to leave. She called out to her friend, to which she didn’t get a reply. So she grabbed the small clutch on the table, took out the car key, and left.

She was heading back to her car when it happened. She noticed three men start following her as soon as she stepped outside the hotel. She increased her pace as she noticed that they were also increasing in number.

Soon, she was surrounded by five armed men with black hoodies and satanic tattoos covering their necks.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the first spoke as he moved closer to where she was standing.

Amina moved back, and the man kept approaching tentatively.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be walking alone, darling.”

“She’s gonna fetch a pretty price. Move!”

She barely screamed before they grabbed her. A hand clamped over her mouth. The other twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her toward an alley near the parking lot. Her heels scraped the concrete. Her breath hitched in panic. She fought and kicked, trying her best to escape but to no avail.

She let out a curse, regretting when she’d bunked her karate classes.

“Let’s have our share first before we sell her, fellas,” the tallest among them announced, giving her a lecherous look.

He reached out to her blouse and started unbuttoning it while the rest of the men held her.

“Boss, why don’t you let me have a taste first? I saw her and I suggested it,” the man jested.

The tallest gave him a nasty glare, and he cowered. Soon enough, he finished unbuttoning her shirt and reached for her chest.

He took a look at her chest, almost salivating, then groped her. He let out a strangled cry.

“Please… please let me go, I’ll give up anything you want. I’ll give you money… please don’t do this.”

But the men laughed at her, clearly amused by her begging.

Then they heard gunshots. Two sharp and fast gunshots. One of the men dropped instantly. The others turned, but they weren’t fast enough. The third bullet pierced the silence, and the last man collapsed beside her. She blinked, her heart hammering.

And then she saw a silhouette of a man leaning against a black motorcycle, the streetlight slicing across his face like a painting. He was tall, lean, dangerous-looking. The kind of danger that makes you crave it. A black shirt hung from his frame like it belonged there. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were the kind that made you forget what air felt like.

His eyes were a deep, smoldering shade of emerald like forest shadows kissed by moonlight. They were rich and intense, the green so dark it flirted with black, yet still shimmered with flecks of hidden fire, like precious gems caught beneath candlelight. They didn’t just look at you—they unraveled you. Mysterious, magnetic, and sinfully enchanting, his gaze held secrets you’d beg to discover.

A sharp breath escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She blinked, her heart skipping, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth had gone.

There was power in those eyes. Raw, unfiltered, and utterly disarming. The kind that made your stomach twist and your skin burn with awareness.

She didn’t know the guy, didn’t know a damn thing about him… but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

All she knew was that those eyes had just ruined her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice—God, that voice—was like honey coated in ecstasy.

It was a feeling. Like velvet sliding over bare skin. Like a secret meant only for her.

And damn if it didn’t make her knees feel just a little less steady.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, louder this time when she didn’t answer the first time.

She nodded, still shaking and breathless. “Yeah. I think. I—yeah.”

He walked toward her. He tucked the gun into his belt like it was no big deal. Like killing two men was just another Tuesday night.

“You sure?” he asked again, slower this time, scanning her like she was a puzzle he didn’t quite trust.

“I’m not fragile,” she snapped, straightening up and brushing dirt off her dress. “I could’ve handled it.”

A grin spread across his lips, arrogant and amused. “Oh? Looked like you were enjoying the concrete.”

“Maybe I was,” she countered, though she was a little bit flustered.

He chuckled, deep and rich. It did something to her stomach. “You’re feisty.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Fair trade,” he said with a grin.

There was a pause. One of those heavy silences where something electric hangs in the air, buzzing just beneath the surface.

“I’m Luciano,” he said, offering a hand.

She stared at it like it was poison. “You always save random girls from being kidn*pped? I’m Amina.”

“No,” he said honestly. “Only the interesting ones.”

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

Amina insisted she could walk home, brushing off his offer like it was nothing. She didn’t want to owe him anything—not the ride, not the rescue, not even a glance. So, she turned on her heel and walked.

But the streets of Istanbul weren’t made for girls with torn blouses and shaky breaths.

It wasn’t even five minutes before she heard the low growl of an engine behind her. The black motorcycle rolled up beside her, and she didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“You sure you’re not fragile?” Luciano asked, his voice teasing, but his eyes looked serious.

She didn’t answer, just stared ahead, her jaw clenched.

“Hop on,” he said, nodding toward the seat behind him.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said hop on. Unless you’d rather wait for another pack of creeps?” he retorted.

Amina cursed under her breath, glaring at him before reluctantly climbing onto the bike. His body was warm in front of her, and she hated how natural it felt to hold onto him. Like she belonged there.

The ride was fast, smooth, and surprisingly silent except for the wind and the thunder of her heartbeat.

When they reached the mansion, he slowed to a stop just outside the garden wall.

“I climbed out through the window,” she admitted reluctantly.

Luciano looked up at the high ledge. “Of course you did.”

He got off the bike, stretching like it was nothing, then helped her off. His hands were rough, steady, and too gentle for someone who’d killed two men without blinking.

He followed her to the back of the house and crouched beneath the window.

“Put your foot here,” he said, lacing his hands together. “I’ll boost you up.”

She did as he said, her body tense as he lifted her like she weighed nothing. She scrambled onto the ledge and turned back to look at him.

“Thanks… for earlier,” she said, her voice sounding quiet now.

He looked up at her, those forest-shadow eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Don’t mention it.”

Then, before she could say anything else, he reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

And kissed her.

Not on the lips. Not yet.

Just a soft, unexpected kiss on the cheek. Barely a whisper of contact. But it sent heat through her veins like a spark to dry kindling.

She blinked and opened her mouth, but no words came out.

By the time she found the courage to speak, he was already turning away, walking back to his bike like he hadn’t just flipped her world upside down.

She watched him ride off into the night, her fingers still touching the spot where his lips had been.

Who the hell was this guy?!