His Dark Vow

Chapter Five

Adaora’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The ring on her finger felt like a chain, its weight pressing into her skin with every nervous twitch.

The maids had led her back into the master bedroom, lit only by the golden glow of wall sconces. The air was thick with tension, the silence louder than gunfire.

She stood by the window, staring out at the sea crashing against the cliffs below the villa. Each wave seemed to echo her heartbeats: fast, furious and frantic.

The door opened.

Leonardo stepped inside, removing his jacket with one smooth motion. His tie came next, fingers unhurried, precise, as though he were stripping away more than just clothing — stripping away her defenses.

Adaora stiffened. “Don’t.”

His gaze lifted to hers. Cool. Unblinking. “Don’t what?”

“This.” Her voice wavered, but she forced the words out. “This marriage. This…charade. You got what you wanted — a name on a piece of paper. Don’t expect more from me.”

He tilted his head, a predator humored by its prey. “You think I dragged you into my world for a signature?”

Her pulse hammered. “You said it yourself — I’m leverage. That’s all I am to you.”

He moved closer, each step measured, until she could smell the faint spice of his cologne. He lifted his hand, brushing a strand of her curls away from her cheek. She flinched but didn’t move back.

“You’re wrong, Adaora,” he murmured. “You’re not leverage. You’re insurance. And insurance…” His thumb traced her jawline, feather-light. “…stays close to the heart.”

Her throat tightened. Fear warred with something else — something reckless, something she refused to name.

She shoved his hand away. “I’ll never be yours. Not really.”

Leonardo’s lips curved, not in amusement but in dark promise. “ I guess we’ll see.”

He turned, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing hard lines of muscle, scars carved into skin that whispered of battles she couldn’t imagine. He wasn’t just a billionaire. He was a man forged in violence.

Adaora’s chest rose and fell as she whispered, “If you touch me, I’ll never forgive you.”

Leonardo paused, shirt half undone. For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then he stepped back, slipping the fabric off his shoulders, but made no move toward her.

Instead, he walked to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers. “Sleep, Ada,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Tomorrow, you’ll see exactly what it means to be a Moretti.”

Her knees nearly buckled with relief — but the unease didn’t fade.

Because in his restraint, in his unreadable calm, Adaora realized something terrifying.

Leonardo Moretti wasn’t just dangerous when he touched her.

He was far more dangerous when he didn’t.