Blood Vows

The Crimson Threads

The silence in Enzo’s office was stifling—deadly. The kind that suffocates before it explodes. Papers were scattered across the mahogany desk, a file open in front of him, its contents confirming what he had suspected since the day she walked into his world.

Alora Vito. Daughter of Matteo Vito. A name soaked in betrayal.

He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. The last page of the dossier stared back at him—a photograph. Matteo Vito, standing beside an enemy of the Valdez syndicate, shaking hands like old friends.

“You’ve been playing innocent,” he muttered to himself. “But your blood speaks louder.”

He didn’t call for her. He didn’t have to.

Two minutes later, the door creaked open. Alora stepped in cautiously, her soft eyes searching his. “You asked to see me?”

Enzo didn’t look up immediately. He let the silence crawl between them like a noose.

Then, finally, he raised his head, dark eyes locked onto hers.

“Tell me,” he said coldly, “did you know your father was a traitor?”

Her breath caught. “What?”

“Matteo Vito,” he snapped, tossing the file toward her. “Worked with Silvano Giacomo. The same bastard who tried to have my father killed.”

Alora’s eyes darted to the photo as it slid out of the file. She reached down with trembling fingers, lifting it like it might burn her.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Enzo, I swear—I didn’t know any of this. I was a child when he died.”

“Convenient,” Enzo said bitterly, rising from his chair. “Your family name was buried for a reason. And now I find out that the woman forced into my life has blood ties to the very man who almost dismantled mine?”

She took a step back, but her voice didn’t waver. “I didn’t choose this, Enzo. You think I wanted to be dragged into your world? Into your home?”

He moved closer, towering over her. “And yet here you are. Sleeping under my roof. Eating at my table. Playing the innocent while your father’s ghost poisons the ground beneath us.”

Her chin lifted. “I won’t apologize for what I didn’t do.”

The words hung between them—sharp and defiant.

For a moment, Enzo was stunned. This wasn’t the timid girl he’d first taken in. This wasn’t the doe-eyed pawn. No, this was something else. Steel, wrapped in silk.

And it enraged him.

“Watch your tone,” he growled.

Alora stepped forward. “Or what? You’ll remind me I’m nothing but a burden? That I’m here because of some blood vow I didn’t even ask for?”

Enzo didn’t respond. The silence that followed was more dangerous than anything he could have said. She was shaking, yes—but her eyes were dry. Proud.

He hated how that stirred something in him.

Before either of them could speak again, a knock came at the door. Sharp. Urgent.

Enzo turned, irritation flashing in his gaze. “What?”

Rafa, his second-in-command, stepped inside, looking grim. “You need to see this. Now.”

The tension between Enzo and Alora was severed instantly. She followed silently as he stalked past Rafa and down the hall to the courtyard.

It was quiet outside. Too quiet.

And then they saw it.

Hanging on the mansion’s front gates was a bloodied sheet, crudely nailed in place. On it, written in deep red:

“The sins of the past never stay buried.”

Beneath the message lay a severed finger wrapped in a black ribbon—the symbol of the Giacomo family.

Alora turned pale. Enzo’s jaw clenched.

“They’re back,” Rafa said. “And they know she’s here.”

Enzo’s mind raced. This wasn’t just a warning—it was a challenge. And it meant someone was watching them far more closely than he’d realized.

Alora was still staring at the message, but her voice was steady. “What does it mean?”

“It means,” Enzo muttered, “you’re no longer just a complication. You’re a target.”

Their eyes met—and for the first time, there was no hatred, no ice. Just the raw weight of the war that had just been reignited.

And she was standing in the middle of it.