VOWS MADE IN BLOOD

003

JULIET

“You can’t be serious,” I shouted, slamming my hand against the kitchen counter. My voice echoed off the walls. “You’re telling me I’m still married to you?

What do you mean, people are after me? Adrian, are you insane?”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, his jaw tight. “Juliet, you have to believe me. The papers never went through. You’re still my wife.”

I shook my head violently, pointing at him. “I don’t care. I left. I walked out. You’re not in charge of my life anymore. I’m done with you and your family. Done.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm completely gone. “I’m trying to protect you. You don’t understand”

“I don’t want your protection!” I snapped, stepping back, my hands trembling from anger and fear. “I don’t want anything from you.

Nothing. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you, and I don’t want to be dragged into your mess ever again!”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.

“No! Just go. Go now before I lose my mind completely.”

“I can’t just leave you unprotected,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Someone’s after you. I can’t let..”

“Then let me deal with it myself!” I screamed. “I’ve survived without you this past year. I can survive now. Get out!”

He hesitated, running a hand down his face. His gaze softened for a second, and I saw the man I once loved behind that dangerous, ruthless exterior. He took a slow breath, then muttered,

“Fine. But I’m not letting you face this alone. Not completely.”

I stared at him, furious. “What does that even mean?”

“From afar,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I’ll make sure someone’s watching. You’re not defenceless, Juliet. Not while I can do anything about it.”

I shook my head and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t care. Just go.”

He lingered a moment longer, pain flashing across his features, then finally turned and walked out. The door clicked behind him, and I collapsed against the wall, gasping for air, tears stinging my eyes.

I had never felt more alive and more broken at the same time.

The next days passed slowly. I went through my routines at school, keeping my past carefully tucked away from everyone.

I smiled at students, graded papers, and sipped my coffee in silence, but my mind kept replaying that argument.

I hated that he could get under my skin so easily, even after everything. I hated that part of me still cared.

I tried to convince myself that everything Adrian said about the danger was just an excuse to control me. It had to be. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that people were out to get me, that the Massimo world I had run from was still trying to pull me back in.

School closed, and I was on my way home, dragging my bag and kicking at the cracks in the sidewalk. The sun was dipping low, and the streets were emptying as everyone hurried home.

That should have made me feel safe. It didn’t. I had a strange prickle at the back of my neck, the kind that made your stomach knot up and your pulse speed up without warning.

I rounded the corner near my apartment, and then I saw it. A black van, parked where it shouldn’t be, engine silent. My heart started pounding, but I told myself it was nothing.

I was imagining things. Probably just some delivery van.

But then one of the windows slid down slightly, and I saw a hand with a ring that made my blood run cold. The Massimo ring.

I ran.

I ran without thinking, weaving through the streets, hoping to lose them. But the van followed, sliding after me like it had been waiting for this moment.

Two men jumped out, masked, their grip firm as they tried to drag me toward the van.

“The boss wants his wife back,” one hissed.

I kicked and screamed, trying to pull free. My hands clawed at their arms. My voice cracked, and I cursed every choice I had made.

Not now. Not after all this time.

Then he appeared.

Like a shadow ripped from the night, moving faster than I could follow, he struck with precision.

The first attacker went down before he even had a chance to react. The second followed moments later. I froze, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

My lungs heaved. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. He didn’t speak. He didn’t hesitate. He just moved, silent and lethal, taking out the attackers as if it was nothing. My knees buckled beneath me.

When it was over, the street was quiet again. I stared at him, unable to believe my eyes. Who was this man?

He didn’t even look at me, but I felt like his presence was a shield. I wanted to run to him. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to know everything about him. And I wanted to scream at him for terrifying me.

“Who… who are you?” I whispered, my voice trembling. My hands clutched my knees as I sank to the curb.

He didn’t answer.

I swallowed hard, trying to find words again. My throat was dry, my heart hammering. “I… I need to know. Please. Tell me your name.”

Still nothing. He just stood there, calm, controlled, watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze like a blanket of fire, warning me that I was not to move carelessly.

I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my spine. There was danger here, yes, but there was also protection, a sense that for some reason I could not yet understand, I had been saved.

I tried to stand, brushing at my skirt, shaking my hair out of my face. “I need answers,” I said, louder this time. My voice cracked, but the anger still burned in it.

“I am not some helpless person. I am Juliet Moretti, and I do not run.”

His silence made my chest tighten. It made me furious. Who was he to decide when to answer and when not to?

But at the same time, I couldn’t move. I wanted to beg him to speak, to tell me everything. I wanted to demand his identity. But the words caught in my throat.

“Who are you?” I asked again, my voice firmer, sharper. I wouldn’t back down. I refused.

He didn’t answer.

And in that moment, I realized everything I had thought I knew about safety, about my life, about control, was gone. I had survived the attack, but I had no idea what I had walked into.

I had a stranger now in my life, and he carried more power and danger than I could understand.

I hugged myself, shivering, trying to take control of my fear. I was alive, yes. But questions burned hotter than relief.

I needed to know who he was, why he had saved me, and what this meant for everything I had tried so hard to protect.

I took a deep breath, lifting my chin, forcing my hands to steady. I would not crumble. I would not let fear dictate to me. But I had to admit, with all my fiery pride and stubbornness, that I was scared. And I didn’t even know why.

I stared at the silent figure, heart hammering, mind spinning. I was alive. I had survived.

And yet I felt more alive and more trapped than I had in years. My life had just changed again. The rules I had lived by no longer applied. And the man, or whoever he is, was standing there, calm and lethal, had rewritten them all.

I drew in a shaky breath and demanded one final time, “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer.

And I knew then that this was only the beginning.