Vows written in blood

Chapter2

ELENA POV

My phone buzzed against the glass desk while I was buried under a pile of documents I'd been putting off all week.

One word lit up the screen.

Home.

I stared at it for a few seconds before I picked up.

"Yes?"

"Miss De Luca," the familiar voice of the family butler said. "Your father requests your presence at the estate."

I leaned back in my chair. "Did he say why?"

"He didn't."

"When?"

"As soon as you can."

My fingers tapped once against the desk. "Okay. I'll be there."

The line went dead. No goodbye. No explanation. Just my father, calling me home the way he called everyone into line, like an appointment he expected me to keep without asking a single question about it.

I wondered, not for the first time, if this was another attempt to talk me out of working. It wouldn't be the first. I built everything I have piece by piece, without his money or his name attached to any of it. I made my own decisions and earned my own wins quietly, without needing anyone standing there to witness them. My success has never been loud. That doesn't make it any less mine.

He's the only person who refuses to see that. To him, every milestone I hit is luck, every win temporary, every step forward somehow still traceable back to him, because admitting otherwise would mean admitting he never had as much control over me as he wanted. So he keeps overlooking the woman I actually became, the one who solves her own problems and doesn't wait around for anyone to catch her. He'd rather believe I'm still struggling than accept I grew past the version of me he could manage.

Three days later a black sedan rolled through the estate's iron gates, tires gliding over the white driveway before stopping beneath the entrance. I stepped out without waiting for anyone to open my door.

The mansion looked exactly how I remembered it, beautiful, elegant, untouchable. Dark stone climbed two stories into the sky, lilies crawling up sections of the walls, water spilling endlessly from the golden fountain at the center of the drive. Even the hedges looked like they'd been designed rather than grown.

Everything here was deliberate. Nothing existed without a reason behind it.

Two guards at the entrance dipped their heads as I passed. "Miss De Luca."

I gave them a small nod and stepped inside, into that particular calm my father's house always had, skylight pouring gold across the marble floors, Italian rugs breaking up the stone, servants moving in complete silence. No one stopped. No one looked up. No one said a word.

"Your father awaits you in his office."

"I thought as much."

I handed my coat to a maid and made the familiar walk down the hall, past the portraits of long dead patriarchs who all wore the same unreadable expression. Power. Control. Legacy. Three words that had defined this house long before I existed in it.

I still couldn't quite believe I was walking toward him. Leonardo De Luca, sophisticated, cunning, CEO of Asterion Group, a man who'd kept me out of the business my entire life and still managed to make me feel like a child every time I stood in front of him. Black hair, brown eyes, an expression permanently set to stern. Rival to everyone. I'd never had a real reason to be afraid of him.

I was anyway.

His study doors were already open. He stood at the window overlooking the city, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a glass of something gold.

"You're here."

"I was told to be."

He turned, and a faint smile crossed his face, not warm enough to be affection, just enough to acknowledge me. "I've missed having you here."

"I was working."

"So I've heard."

I stepped farther into the room and stopped. "You didn't call me home to discuss my schedule."

"No."

Silence settled between us, comfortable in the way it only is between two people who've never needed to fill it. Finally he gestured to the chair across from his desk.

"Sit."

I stood a second longer than I needed to before I did.

"What's wrong?"

He sank into his own chair. "There's someone. A man."

"Okay?"

His mouth barely moved. "I need you to get close to him."

"You have hundreds of men for that."

"I do."

"So why me?"

"Because none of them can offer what you can."

"And what's that?"

"A clean name."

I crossed one leg over the other. "Okay?"

He slid a thin file across the desk. I opened it.

A photograph. A sharply dressed man, Rafael Marchetti. I knew the name before I knew the face. Confident. Dangerous, or so the whispers said. The kind of man who never once accepted no as a full sentence.

I looked back up. "And?"

"He's become involved in an investment that intersects with our interests."

"You want information."

"I want clarity."

I closed the file. "You've never needed me for clarity before."

"I've never had someone in your position before."

My eyes narrowed. "You want me to get close to him."

"I'm asking you to let him believe you met by coincidence."

"And if he isn't interested?"

"He will be."

"You sound confident."

"I rarely make requests without already knowing how they end."

I sat back. "So I'm a bargaining chip."

"No."

"No?"

"You're my informant."

"Wow. Nice choice of words."

"They're accurate."

I held his stare. "You always said family stays outside business."

"I said I'd protect my family."

"And now?"

"I still am."

"By sending me toward a man half the underworld only speaks about in whispers?"

His expression didn't move. "I would never send you if there were danger."

"You're not telling me everything."

"I'm telling you enough."

"I want honesty."

"Some matters don't concern you."

"And yet this one apparently does."

"It does."

I drummed my fingers once against the armrest. "What if I refuse?"

"You won't."

The answer came too fast.

I raised an eyebrow. "You sound certain."

"I know my daughter."

A faint smile crossed my face, not amusement, just recognition of the move he'd made. I picked the file back up.

"I'll meet him."

His shoulders relaxed, just barely.

"But understand something." I waited until he was looking at me. "If I ever find out you used me for reasons beyond what you've told me, I expect the truth from you before I hear it from anyone else."

The smile slid off his face.

"I would never insult you that way."

"I hope not."

I stood and walked out, the door clicking shut behind me.

My old room looked exactly as I'd left it, like time had simply paused here waiting for me to come back. Floor to ceiling windows still flooded the space with gold light. Fresh roses sat in the vase on my dresser, someone keeping this room maintained even though I barely lived in it anymore, out of habit or obligation, maybe both.

I stepped out of my heels and let them drop onto the rug, running my fingers over the dresser, the color coded closet, every designer piece still hanging exactly where I'd left it. Home had always been extravagant. But the money never actually mattered to me. What mattered was building something that belonged to me and no one else. Not my father's name. Not his approval.

Just mine.

I looked around the room, beautiful and organized and expensive, and none of it was what made me feel like I mattered.

I was.

No matter how hard he kept trying to convince himself otherwise.

I still didn't understand why he'd chosen me for this instead of Lucian, his own consigliere. It didn't add up, and my father never did anything that didn't add up.

I told myself it didn't matter. That this would be simple, walk into a room, let a dangerous man notice me, hand my father whatever scraps he wanted, walk back out untouched.

I smiled at my reflection in the dresser mirror, already rehearsing the version of myself I'd be wearing like a costume.

I had no idea the man in that photograph had already seen women like the one I was about to become a hundred times over, and that every single one of them had underestimated exactly how fast he could turn a coincidence into a cage.