THE DEVIL'S LAST VOW

CHAPTER 1

MARA POV

I knew something was wrong when the man outside my apartment stopped pretending he wasn't watching me. He had been there for three nights.

Same black car.

Same dark jacket.

Same stupid habit of looking down at his phone whenever I looked through the window.

Tonight, I decided I was done being polite. I grabbed my keys, slipped my phone into my pocket, and walked outside. The rain had started ten minutes earlier.

Perfect.

I crossed the sidewalk and stopped beside the driver's window.

The man looked up.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then he lowered his phone. "Can I help you?"

I stared at him. "You've been following me."

"No."

"That's funny."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because you're parked outside my building every night."

"I like the view."

I looked at my apartment building. "Of this?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Then you have terrible taste."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

Almost.

I stepped closer. "Who sent you?"

He didn't answer.

"Look, I'm not interested in whatever creepy secret-agent thing you're doing."

"I'm not a secret agent."

"Good. Because you would be terrible at it."

This time, he actually smiled. Then his expression changed. He looked past me.

I followed his gaze. Nothing.

Just an empty street.

When I turned back, he was already reaching for his door.

"Go home, Mara." My stomach dropped.

I hadn't told him my name. I stepped backward. "How do you know my name?"

He didn't answer. He started the car.

"Hey!"

The tires splashed through a puddle as the black sedan disappeared around the corner.

I stood there in the rain, staring after him.

My heart was beating too fast.

I pulled out my phone. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

Then my screen lit up.

Unknown number. I hesitated before opening it.

One message.

STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR FATHER.

I stared at the words.

My father's name had not appeared in my life for months. Not since his funeral. Not since I watched the coffin disappear beneath the ground.

Victor Vale was dead.

That was the only thing I knew for certain.

I typed back. Who is this?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

I waited. Nothing.

I tried again. What do you want?

This time, the reply came immediately. You don't want to know.

I frowned.

Then another message appeared.

But you're going to find out anyway.

My hands went cold. I looked toward the street. The black car was gone. But suddenly, I didn't feel alone. I hurried back inside.

The elevator took forever.

By the time I reached my floor, my instincts were screaming at me.

I unlocked my door. Nothing seemed different. My living room was exactly how I'd left it.

The lamp was on.

My jacket was hanging from the chair.

A half-empty mug sat on the kitchen counter. Normal. Safe.

I stepped inside.

Then I noticed the envelope.

It was lying in the center of my dining table. I hadn't left it there. I slowly approached.

No name.

No address.

Just a black envelope.

My fingers hovered over it. Then I opened it.

A photograph fell onto the table.

I picked it up.

My father stood in the picture. Younger. Maybe twenty years younger.

He was standing beside a man I didn't recognize.

A man dressed in black. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark eyes.

Even in an old photograph, he looked dangerous.

But that wasn't what made my blood run cold.

I recognized the location. The old Vale estate.

And standing beside my father was a much younger version of the man who had been watching my apartment.

I turned the photograph over.

There was handwriting on the back.

My father's handwriting. I knew it immediately.

Only one sentence.

If anything happens to me, don't trust the Morettis.

I stopped breathing. Moretti.

The name meant nothing to me.

At least, it hadn't until tonight.

My phone vibrated.

I nearly dropped the photograph.

Another unknown number.

This time, there was no message.

A video.

I stared at it.

My thumb hovered over the screen. Then I pressed play.

The video showed my father. Alive. Sitting in a dark room.

His face was bruised. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Mara."

My knees weakened.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

"If you're watching this, then I'm already dead." I covered my mouth.

"No."

His eyes moved toward the camera. "I need you to listen carefully."

The video flickered.

My father's voice continued. "There is a man named Dante Moretti."

My heart stopped.

"He will come looking for you" The screen went black.

I stood completely still.

Then the final message appeared.

AND WHEN HE DOES, RUN.

A sound came from behind me. A floorboard creaked.

I turned.

The living room was empty. Then I saw the shadow beneath my bedroom door. Someone was standing inside. I couldn't move.

The doorknob slowly turned.

And a man's voice came from the other side. "Mara?"

I stepped backward.

The door opened.

A stranger stood there.

He smiled. "Your father should have taught you never to open things left by dead men."

I reached for my phone.

He lunged.

And the world went black.

The last thing I remembered was the stranger's hand reaching for me. Then nothing. No sound. No light. Just darkness.

When I woke up, my cheek was pressed against something cold.

Concrete.

For a few seconds, I didn't move. I listened.

A low humming sound came from somewhere above me. Pipes, maybe. A machine. Rain tapped against what sounded like a metal roof.

My head hurt.

My wrists were tied behind my back.

Panic rushed through me so quickly that I almost screamed. Almost.

Then I remembered my father's video.

There is a man named Dante Moretti.

He will come looking for you.

And when he does, run.

I swallowed.Who was Dante Moretti?

And why had my father been afraid of him?

A door opened. I immediately closed my eyes.

Footsteps approached. One.

Two.

Three.

They stopped beside me. "She's awake."

A man's voice.

The same stranger from my apartment. I kept my eyes closed.

"How long?"

"About thirty seconds." A pause.

"Did she see your face?"

"Yes."

"Then we have a problem."