The Devil's Last Promise

The rain had been falling since sunset, turning the streets of Bellmont into a blur of silver beneath the city lights. Joan Moretti stood beside the tall windows of her father's study, watching the storm roll across the glass while the sound of hurried footsteps echoed somewhere downstairs. She had learned long ago that silence in the Moretti house was never peaceful. It usually meant someone was hiding something. Tonight, everyone was hiding something. Her father had returned home less than an hour ago, pale and unusually quiet. He had dismissed the security team, ordered the servants away, and locked himself inside his study. Joan had never seen him afraid before. Angry, yes. Exhausted, certainly. But afraid? Never. She turned when the study door opened. Her father stood there with his phone in one hand and a strange expression on his face. “Joan,” he said quietly. She immediately knew something was wrong. “What happened?” “Go upstairs.” “Dad—” “Now.” Joan stared at him. “You're scaring me.” He looked toward the hallway before lowering his voice. “If anyone asks, you were never in this room tonight.” Her heart skipped. “What are you talking about?” He stepped closer and placed a small black envelope into her hand. It was sealed with a silver symbol she didn't recognize. “Keep this somewhere safe,” he whispered. “And whatever happens, don't give it to the police.” Joan's fingers tightened around the envelope. “Why?” Before he could answer, the lights went out. The entire house fell into darkness. A second later, glass shattered downstairs. Her father grabbed her wrist. “Run.” They barely made it into the corridor before a deafening crash shook the house. Joan stumbled, and her father pushed her behind him. Voices rose from below. Their security guards shouted. Then came several sharp sounds that made Joan freeze. Her father looked at her. “Don't move.” “Dad—” “Joan, listen to me.” His voice was different now. Not the voice of the powerful prosecutor who had spent twenty years putting criminals behind bars. This was the voice of a father who believed he might not get another chance to speak to his daughter. “Whatever you hear, stay hidden.” Then he disappeared down the stairs. “Dad!” Joan wanted to follow him, but fear rooted her to the floor. Minutes passed. Then footsteps approached. Slow. Measured. Someone stopped outside the corridor. Joan held her breath. A man's voice came from the darkness. “Check every room.” Another voice answered. “She's not here.” Joan pressed a hand over her mouth. Then the footsteps moved away. She waited until the house became completely silent before creeping toward the staircase. Her father was gone. The study door stood open. Inside, papers were scattered across the floor, one of the windows was broken, and the black envelope was no longer in her hand. Joan looked down. Her fingers were empty. Someone had taken it. Three days later, the newspapers had a name. VICTOR VALE. Joan stared at the photograph printed across the front page. He stood outside a courthouse in a black suit, surrounded by men in expensive clothes. His expression was unreadable. Cold eyes. Sharp features. A calmness that seemed almost unnatural. The headline beneath his photograph made Joan's stomach twist. VALE HEIR LINKED TO ATTACK ON PROSECUTOR MORETTI. She read the article twice. Then a third time. According to the report, investigators had discovered evidence connecting Victor Vale to the attack on her father. Several witnesses claimed Victor had been seen near the Moretti estate that night. Joan's hands trembled. The Vale family. Of course. Her father had spent years trying to expose them. Their empire stretched through businesses, political connections and criminal networks nobody could fully map. Everyone knew the Vales were dangerous, but nobody could prove enough to destroy them. Now her father was missing. And Victor Vale was the first name connected to it. Joan closed the newspaper. She remembered her father's warning. Don't trust them. She had no intention of doing anything else. Three days later, Joan stood across the street from Vale Tower. The building rose above the city like a monument to everything she hated. Black glass. Steel. Guards at every entrance. She had no weapon. No plan. Only anger. And anger, she had discovered, could make a person reckless. She crossed the street. The moment she entered the lobby, two security guards approached. “Miss, this area is restricted.” “I need to see Victor Vale.” They exchanged a glance. “He isn't receiving visitors.” “I didn't ask whether he was.” One guard stepped forward. “You need to leave.” Joan stared directly at him. “Tell Victor Vale that Joan Moretti is here.” The man's expression changed. Only slightly. But she noticed. He touched the communication device in his ear. “Sir, there's a Joan Moretti at the entrance.” Silence. Then the guard's face hardened. “He'll see you.” Joan's heart pounded as the elevator doors opened. She stepped inside. The doors closed. Thirty seconds later, they opened onto the highest floor. A man stood with his back to her beside a wall of windows. Victor Vale. He didn't turn around. “You have five minutes.” His voice was calm. Joan stepped forward. “I don't need five.” Now he turned. For the first time, she saw him without a newspaper between them. He looked younger than she expected. And far more dangerous. His eyes met hers. For a brief second, neither spoke. Then Victor said, “Your father shouldn't have sent you here.” Joan's anger returned instantly. “You attacked him.” Something flickered across Victor's face. Not guilt. Surprise. “I didn't.” “Then explain the evidence.” “I can't.” “Can't or won't?” Victor walked toward his desk. “Both.” Joan followed him. “My father disappeared because of your family.” Victor stopped. “You don't know what happened.” “My father spent his life fighting people like you.” “And you think that makes him innocent?” Joan froze. Victor looked at her for several seconds before continuing. “Your father knew something. Something he should never have discovered.” “What?” “I don't know.” “You expect me to believe that?” “No.” His answer came so quickly that she almost laughed. “Then why did you let me in?” Victor's expression became unreadable. “Because someone wanted you to come here.” A chill moved through her. “What does that mean?” Victor reached into his desk and pulled out a photograph. He placed it in front of her. Joan looked down. Her father was standing beside another man. Victor's father. And between them was a third person whose face had been deliberately scratched away. On the back of the photograph were four words. THE TRUTH IS CLOSER. Joan looked up. Victor was watching her. “Who is that?” she asked. “I don't know.” “You expect me to believe that?” “No.” He leaned against the desk. “But I know one thing.” “What?” “Your father wasn't attacked because of our families' rivalry.” Joan's heart began pounding again. “Then why?” Victor's gaze hardened. “Because someone wants us to believe it was.” Before Joan could respond, the doors behind her suddenly opened. Pascal Vale walked into the room. Unlike Victor, Pascal smiled. It was the kind of smile that made Joan instinctively uncomfortable. His eyes moved from Victor to Joan. “Well,” he said softly. “The prosecutor's daughter finally came looking for answers.” Victor's expression changed. “Leave.” Pascal ignored him. He looked directly at Joan. “Your father always told you the Vales were monsters, didn't he?” Joan said nothing. Pascal stepped closer. “Perhaps he was right.” Victor moved between them. “Pascal.” For the first time, the smile disappeared from Pascal's face. “You should be careful, brother.” “About what?” “About protecting someone who may be responsible for your downfall.” Joan looked between them. “What is he talking about?” Neither answered. Then Victor's phone rang. He checked the screen. His face immediately hardened. “What happened?” Joan asked. Victor looked at her. “Your father has been found.” Joan's breath caught. “Is he alive?” Victor didn't answer immediately. That silence told her enough. She stepped backward. “No.” Victor caught her before she fell. “Joan.” She pushed him away. “Take me to him.” “It's not safe.” “I don't care.” Victor stared at her. For the first time, something in his expression softened. Then he looked toward Pascal. “Get the car.” Pascal smiled again. “Of course.” Joan didn't notice the way Pascal's hand tightened around his phone. She didn't see the message he quietly sent before leaving the room. She's with Victor. The plan is working. And somewhere across the city, someone read the message and smiled. Because Joan Moretti had just walked into a war that had started long before she was born. And Victor Vale was about to discover that protecting her might be the most dangerous decision he had ever made.