His Dark Vow

Chapter Ten

The villa still trembled with the echoes of gunfire. Smoke lingered in the air, drifting like a phantom through the broken corridors. Somewhere above, glass shattered, followed by the dull thud of a body collapsing against marble.

Adaora sat frozen in the panic room, her arms locked tight around herself, the metallic taste of fear heavy on her tongue. The monitors flickered, displaying fragmented images of chaos—masked men running, Moretti guards returning fire, and crimson blooming across white stone walls.

Her heartbeat refused to slow. It roared in her ears, drowning out everything except the memory of Leonardo’s command: Stay behind me.

The door groaned. Then it opened.

Leonardo stepped back inside, his pistol still smoking, his dark combat gear streaked with blood that wasn’t his. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes—those gray, merciless eyes—burned hotter than the flames outside.

Adaora pushed to her feet. “What—what’s happening out there?”

Leonardo slid the pistol onto the steel table, the sound sharp in the silence. “It’s over. For now.”

Her chest loosened—but only for a moment. She caught the tension in his jaw, the coil of restrained fury in his shoulders. “You don’t look like a man who just won.”

He turned, slowly, pinning her with a stare that made the air between them heavy. “Because I didn’t.”

Her mouth went dry. “Then what—”

“There’s a traitor in this house.” The words were low, lethal. “My men don’t break unless someone inside breaks them first.”

Adaora’s stomach dropped. “You mean… someone here helped them?”

“Yes.” His gaze cut to the screens, where black-clad bodies were dragged from the halls. “And until I find them, none of us are safe.”

She shivered, rubbing her arms as though she could chase away the chill. “And what happens when you do?”

Leonardo’s lips curved—nothing like a smile. “They’ll beg for death before I’m finished.”

Her breath caught. The brutality in his voice should have terrified her. It did. But beneath the terror lurked something far more dangerous: the part of her that believed him.

He crossed the room, his movements slow but purposeful, a predator caging his prey. When he stopped before her, his hand lifted—not to strike, but to cup her cheek.

Her instinct screamed to recoil, yet her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into the heat of his palm.

“You see now, Adaora?” he murmured. “You think this is a game between you and me. A cage, a contract, a vow you didn’t choose. But outside these walls, there are wolves who would tear you apart, piece by piece, just to see me bleed.”

Her throat tightened. “Then why drag me into this at all? If I’m only going to make you weaker?”

His thumb traced the curve of her jaw, lingering where her pulse raced. “Because you are weakness. And because you are mine.”

Her breath shuddered. The words should have enraged her, and part of her wanted to spit them back in his face. But another part—raw, treacherous—thrummed at the claim.

“You don’t own me,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

Leonardo leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. “No?” His breath was hot against her skin. “Then tell me why your heart races when I touch you. Tell me why you’re standing here instead of running.”

Her nails bit into her palms. “Because there’s nowhere to run.”

A dangerous smile ghosted his lips. “Exactly.”

The sound of heavy boots in the hall broke the moment. The panic room door creaked open again, revealing two of his men dragging a bloodied figure between them. The guard’s shirt was torn, crimson soaking through, his face pale but defiant.

Leonardo’s eyes hardened. “Franco.”

Adaora blinked. Franco? She remembered him faintly—a guard who had brought her breakfast once, his smile awkward but kind.

The men shoved him to the floor, and he groaned, clutching his side. Leonardo crouched beside him, not in sympathy, but with the clinical coldness of a surgeon preparing to cut.

“Why?” Leonardo asked simply.

Franco spat blood. “Because you forgot where you came from. You think you’re a king, but you’re just another butcher. And butchers get slaughtered.”

Leonardo’s jaw flexed. “Who paid you?”

Silence.

Leonardo’s pistol was in his hand before Adaora could breathe. He pressed the barrel against Franco’s temple, steady as stone. “Who. Paid. You?”

Adaora’s pulse lurched. “Leonardo—stop. He’s wounded, he’ll bleed out if you just—”

Leonardo’s eyes flicked to her, sharp as knives. “Stay out of this.”

But she didn’t. She stepped forward, voice shaking. “If you kill him, you’ll never get your answer.”

For a moment, the room froze—Leonardo staring at her, Franco gasping, the guards shifting uneasily.

Then Leonardo lowered the gun a fraction, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re learning,” he murmured. “Good.”

He grabbed Franco by the collar, dragging him upright with brutal strength. “One more chance.”

Franco’s breath rattled. “The Russians,” he finally coughed. “They promised freedom. A way out. You keep us chained, Moretti. Better to die on my feet than live on my knees.”

Leonardo’s expression didn’t change, but his silence was darker than rage. He released Franco, letting him collapse back onto the floor.

“Take him,” he ordered his men. “Make an example.”

Adaora’s stomach turned. “An example? What does that mean?”

Leonardo’s gaze swept back to her. “It means no one will ever dare betray me again.”

She wanted to scream, to beg him for mercy—but the words withered on her tongue. Because deep down, she knew mercy had no place here. Not in his world. Not in this war.

Leonardo turned back to her, his features carved from steel, but his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with something only she seemed to ignite.

“You asked me once why I married you,” he said softly. “It wasn’t for a name on a paper. It was for this.” He gestured around them—to the blood, the betrayal, the razor’s edge between life and death. “Because standing beside me, Adaora, you’ll either break… or you’ll become unbreakable.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “And if I refuse?”

Leonardo stepped closer, his voice a vow and a threat in one. “Then I’ll break for you.”

The words left her breathless, their meaning as terrifying as the gunfire outside. Because in that moment, Adaora realized something she hadn’t wanted to admit.

The most dangerous thing about Leonardo Moretti wasn’t his violence.

It was the possibility that he might actually care.