RUTHLESS VOW

Chapter Ten: The Sister's Warning

I was in the garden three days after Dante's birthday, pretending to read but actually replaying our conversation in his sanctuary for the hundredth time.

I'm falling for you.

The words haunted me. Not in a bad way—in the way that a song gets stuck in your head, looping endlessly until it becomes part of your internal soundtrack. Dante Moretti was falling for me. The cold Don who let no one close. The man who'd built walls so high they touched the sky.

And God help me, I was falling too.

"You look happy."

I jumped, my book tumbling from my lap. Lucia stood on the path, arms crossed, watching me with those dark Moretti eyes that missed nothing.

"I was just reading," I said, reaching for the book.

"You haven't turned a page in twenty minutes. I've been watching." She moved closer, settling onto the bench beside me without invitation. "You were thinking about my brother."

It wasn't a question. Heat crept up my neck. "I don't know what you mean."

"Please." Lucia's laugh was sharp. "You get this look when you think about him. Soft. Vulnerable. Like he's not the most dangerous man in the city." She turned to face me fully. "We need to talk, Elena. Now."

The seriousness in her tone made my stomach clench. "About what?"

"About the fact that you're in love with Dante. Or falling in love. Or whatever you want to call what's happening between you two." She held up a hand when I started to protest. "Don't bother denying it. Everyone in this house sees it. The way you look at each other. The way he watches you like you're the only thing in the room. The way his entire demeanor changes when you're near."

I said nothing. What could I say? She was right.

Lucia sighed, some of the sharpness leaving her expression. "I'm not here to tell you to stay away from him. Though God knows I probably should."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you need to understand what you're getting into. What loving Dante Moretti actually means." She looked out at the gardens, her profile stark against the afternoon sun. "Our father was a monster. Not the poetic kind that gets romanticized in stories. A real monster. Cruel, vicious, sadistic. He beat Dante for showing weakness. Punished him for caring about anything. And our mother..." Her voice went tight. "He destroyed her. Piece by piece, year by year, until there was nothing left but a ghost."

My chest ached. "Lucia—"

"Dante was sixteen when she died. Old enough to understand what killed her, young enough to be powerless to stop it." She finally looked at me, and I saw pain in her eyes—old pain, the kind that never fully heals. "He built walls after that. Decided that loving people made you vulnerable. That caring was a weakness our father could exploit. So he taught himself not to feel. Not to need. Not to let anyone close."

"But he let you close," I said softly.

"I'm his sister. I'm family. That's different." She shook her head. "What you're doing—what you're making him feel—that's new territory. And it terrifies him."

"He told me he's falling for me."

Lucia's eyes widened slightly. "He said that? Actually said those words?"

"Yes."

She let out a long breath. "Then it's worse than I thought. Dante doesn't do vulnerable. He doesn't admit feelings. The fact that he told you means he's already too far gone to pull back."

"Why does that sound like a bad thing?"

"Because I've watched my brother destroy things he loved to protect them." Lucia's voice went hard. "He's convinced that anything he cares about becomes a target. That loving someone is signing their death warrant. If he falls for you completely—if he lets himself need you—there's no predicting what he'll become to keep you safe."

The words sent a chill down my spine. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to decide, right now, if you're in this for real. Because there's no middle ground with Dante. No casual. No halfway." She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "If you fall in love with him, you become his entire world. His obsession. The thing he'll burn down cities to protect. And that kind of love? It's not gentle or easy or safe. It's all-consuming. It's terrifying. It changes you."

"You're trying to scare me away."

"No." Her expression softened slightly. "I'm trying to prepare you. Because I see the way you look at him too, Elena. And I know you're falling just as hard. But you walked into this world innocent. Clean. And Dante's world is anything but."

I thought about the violence I'd witnessed. The cold fury in Dante's eyes when Vitale had disrespected me. The casual way Marco mentioned people being "dealt with." The blood that stained this beautiful house no matter how thoroughly it was scrubbed away.

"I know what he is," I said quietly. "I've known from the beginning."

"Knowing and living it are different things." Lucia released my hand. "Our father used to say that our mother was too soft for this world. That her gentleness made her weak. He was wrong—her gentleness was her strength. But this world still destroyed her."

"I'm not your mother."

"No. You're stronger. Tougher. You push back when Dante tries to intimidate you. You see him for who he is and don't run." She studied me for a long moment. "That's why I think you might actually survive loving him. But only if you understand what you’re walking into."

"Then tell me." I met her gaze steadily. "Tell me what it means to love him."

Lucia was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "It means accepting that some nights, he'll come home with blood on his hands. It means understanding that he'll put your safety above everything—including your freedom. It means living with the knowledge that people will try to hurt you to get to him." Her voice dropped lower. "It means that if you're ever in danger, he'll burn the world down to save you. And he won't lose sleep over the ashes."

"You're describing a monster."

"I'm describing my brother." She touched the necklace at her throat—a delicate gold chain similar to mine. "He gave this to me when I turned eighteen. Told me it meant I was under his protection. That anyone who touched me would answer to him." Her eyes met mine. "Two weeks later, a rival family tried to use me as leverage. Dante..." She paused. "He made an example. A brutal one. The kind that sends a message no one forgets."

My stomach tightened, but I didn't look away.

"That's who he is, Elena. Capable of terrible violence when someone he loves is threatened. But also capable of the kind of loyalty that most people only dream of. The kind of devotion that borders on worship." She stood, smoothing her dress. "So you need to decide. Can you love a man who's both savior and destroyer? Who'll protect you with the same hands that have killed?"

"What do you think I should do?"

Lucia studied me for a long moment. "I think you should ask yourself if you're ready to be loved the way Dante loves. Because it's not soft or gentle or comfortable. It's fierce. Consuming. The kind of love that demands everything and gives everything in return." She started down the path, then paused. "And Elena? If you decide you can't handle it, walk away now. Before you're in so deep that leaving destroys you both."

She left me alone in the garden with my thoughts spiraling.

I stayed there until the sun began to set, wrestling with Lucia's words. Could I do it? Could I love Dante Moretti knowing what he was? The violence he was capable of? The darkness that lived in him?

I thought about his confession in his sanctuary. The vulnerability in his eyes when he'd admitted he was falling. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him human.

I thought about the man who missed his mother. Who couldn't sleep. Who'd given me his mother's book like it was the most precious thing he owned. Who'd invited me into his most private space because he wanted me to know him.

The Don and the man. The monster and the human. Two sides of the same person.

And I realized, with startling clarity, that I didn't just love one or the other. I loved both. The cold exterior and the wounded soul beneath. The danger and the tenderness. All of it.

But Lucia's warning echoed: There's no going back. Once you're his, he doesn't let go.

Was I ready for that? For the intensity of being loved by someone like Dante?

By the time I went inside, I'd made a decision—though whether it was the right one, only time would tell.

That night, I found myself outside Dante's private study without consciously deciding to go there. My hand was raised to knock before I realized what I was doing.

The door opened before my knuckles made contact.

Dante stood on the other side, looking unsurprised to find me there. Like he'd known I would come. Like he'd been waiting.

"Elena." My name on his lips was a question and an invitation.

"I talked to Lucia today," I said.

Something flickered in his eyes—concern, maybe fear. "What did she tell you?"

"The truth. About your father. Your mother. What loving you actually means."

He went very still. "And?"

"And she asked me to decide if I could handle it. If I could love you for who you really are, not who I hope you could be."

"Can you?" His voice was carefully neutral, but I heard the fear beneath it. The desperate hope he was trying to hide.

I stepped into his study, closing the door behind me. "I don't know. But I know I want to try."

Something broke in his expression—relief and fear and desperate longing all at once. "Elena, you don't understand what you're saying. Once we cross this line—"

"I know." I moved closer. "No going back. No halfway. All or nothing."

"You'll become a target. Everyone I care about becomes leverage."

"I'm already a target. I've been living in this house for weeks."

"It's different when—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "When you matter. When losing you would destroy me."

"Then we'll be careful. We'll be smart. We'll protect each other." I was close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat, the tension in his jaw. "But I'm not walking away, Dante. Not from you. Not from this."

"You should." But even as he said it, his hand came up to cup my face. "God, Elena, you should run so far from me you never look back."

"I'm done running."

"Then you're a fool."

"Maybe." I turned my face into his palm. "But I'm your fool."

He made a sound low in his throat—something between a laugh and a groan. "You're going to be the death of me."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. You've destroyed every defense I ever built. Every wall. Every rule I set for myself." His thumb traced my lower lip, and I felt the tremor in his touch. "I swore I'd never let anyone this close. Never let anyone matter this much. And then you walked into my office with fire in your eyes, and I was lost."

"Good," I whispered. "I don't want you to be found."

The space between us crackled with tension. We were so close now—close enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell his cologne, see my reflection in his dark eyes. Close enough that closing the final distance would take only a breath, a heartbeat, a moment of surrender.

But neither of us moved. Not yet. Because we both knew that once we started, we wouldn't be able to stop.

"I need you to understand something," Dante said, his voice rough. "When I said I'm falling for you, I meant it. But what you need to know is that I don't do anything halfway. If we do this—if we let this happen—I will be obsessed with you. Possessive. I'll want to know where you are every moment. I'll lose my mind if another man so much as looks at you wrong.

"I know."

"Do you? Do you really?" His hand slid from my face to my neck, and I felt my pulse jump beneath his fingers. "Because I'm barely holding on as it is. And if you give me permission to stop fighting this, I won't be able to let you go. Ever. You'll be mine, Elena. Completely. And I don't know if that's fair to you."

"Let me decide what's fair to me."

"I'm trying to do the right thing here."

"The right thing," I said, my voice steadier "is letting us have what we both want."

His eyes darkened. "And what do we want?"

"Each other." I placed my hand over his heart, feeling it pound beneath my palm. "Stop fighting it, Dante. Stop trying to protect me from yourself. I see you. All of you. And I'm still here."

"For now." His voice was barely audible. "But what about when you see what I'm really capable of? When you witness the full extent of the darkness I live in?"

"Then I'll decide then. But you don't get to make that choice for me." I held his gaze. "I'm not your mother, Dante. I won't break."

He flinched at the comparison, and I realized Lucia had been right—he was terrified of loving me the way his father had loved his mother. Terrified of becoming the kind of man who destroyed what he cherished.

"I would never hurt you," he said fiercely. "Never. I'd die first."

"I know." And I did. For all his darkness, for all his capacity for violence, I believed with absolute certainty that Dante would never turn that violence on me. "But you need to trust that I'm strong enough to stand beside you. Strong enough to handle your world."

"Are you?"

"I guess we'll find out together."

He stared at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. Then he stepped back, putting distance between us that felt like miles.

"Go," he said roughly. "Please. Before I stop being noble and take what I want."

"What if I want you to?"

"Elena." My name was a warning and a plea. "I'm hanging on by a thread here. Don't push me."

I understood. He was trying to do the right thing. Trying to give me space to be sure. Trying to be better than the possessive, obsessive man he feared he'd become.

But I was sure. And I was tired of waiting.

Still, I respected his need for control. For now.

"Okay," I said softly. "I'll go. But Dante?"

"Yes?"

"When you're ready to stop fighting this—when you're ready to let yourself have what you want—I'll be here. Waiting. Ready.”

The promise in my words made his jaw clench, his hands fist at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me.

"You're killing me," he said hoarsely.

"Good. At least we'll die together."

I left him standing in his study, every line of his body radiating tension and barely controlled desire.

As I walked back to my room, I thought about Lucia's warning. About the choice I'd made. About what loving Dante Moretti would mean.

There was no going back. I'd crossed a line tonight, made a decision that would change everything.

And I wasn't afraid.

Bring on the darkness. Bring on the danger. Bring on the all-consuming, obsessive love of a man who'd forgotten how to feel until I'd reminded him.

I was ready.

The only question was: how long could Dante hold out before he stopped fighting and let himself fall completely?

I had a feeling I was about to find out.