Chapter 5 — Vows of Fire
1311 Words
Alessia
The roses smelled like betrayal.
Three days had passed since Inferno — since the night she’d sworn to forget the taste of his mouth and the heat of his hands. But forgetting Dante Morretti was like trying to forget fire after it burned you. The memory didn’t fade. It lingered, seared into the skin.
Now, beneath the chandeliers of her father’s ballroom, Alessia stood still, painted in the illusion of grace. Gold spilled across the marble floor; laughter echoed like breaking glass. Her family — the Torricellis — shimmered in their finest sins.
Tonight, peace would be announced.
“Tonight,” her father declared, his voice booming through the hall, “the feud ends. The Torricellis and the Morretis shall be united — through the marriage of my daughter, Alessia, and Dante Morreti.”
Applause thundered. Cameras flashed. Champagne flowed.
But Alessia felt only the tightening of her chest — the invisible leash of a promise she hadn’t made.
And then she saw him.
Dante moved through the crowd like a shadow with purpose. Black suit, unbothered expression, every step wrapped in quiet dominance. He looked nothing like a groom; he looked like a warning.
When his eyes found hers, the noise of the room vanished.
He came closer. Smiled — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Fiancée,” he murmured, tasting the word like it was poison.
“Pretend harder,” she said through a painted smile. “People might start believing you’re happy.”
He leaned in, his voice a low scrape. “Careful, princess. You almost sound jealous.”
“I don’t get jealous,” she lied. “Especially not of my captors.”
Their exchange was nothing but venom disguised as charm — and yet, when his fingers brushed hers for the photographers, a spark leapt up her arm.
She hated it.
She hated him.
And gods help her, she wanted more.
Dante
He’d been raised to see marriage as a contract, not a confession.
But standing beside Alessia Torricelli felt like standing at the edge of a blade. The air around her hummed, dangerous and magnetic.
Dante didn’t believe in fate — but if he did, he’d say she looked like a curse that wore red.
When her father announced the engagement, Dante didn’t blink. Years of negotiations, blood debts, and street wars had led to this moment — two families forced to play at peace. He’d expected rage from her. But not the calm, calculated poise with which she accepted the spotlight.
That poise terrified him.
Because it looked too much like his own.
When he touched her hand for the cameras, he felt the faint tremor she tried to hide. Beneath her cold exterior, her pulse raced like a trapped bird.
He almost pitied her. Almost.
Later, as the night aged and the ballroom emptied, Dante slipped away to the terrace. The quiet was a relief. He lit a cigarette, watching the ember glow like an omen.
He didn’t expect her to find him. But somehow, he knew she would.
Alessia
The mansion had grown suffocating — too many congratulations, too many eyes.
She slipped out through the side corridor, past portraits of men who’d killed for peace, until the night air hit her lungs. The terrace smelled of roses and smoke.
And there he was.
Dante leaned against the stone balustrade, cigarette in hand, the city’s glow painting him in amber and sin.
“You followed me,” he said without turning.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I came for air.”
He exhaled, the smoke curling upward. “Funny. You look like you’re choking on it.”
Her laugh was sharp. “Maybe I am. On this dress, this lie, this entire farce.”
“You smiled through it well.”
“I smiled because my father told me to.”
“No,” he said, turning to face her. “You smiled because you wanted to show me you weren’t afraid.”
The words cut.
Alessia stepped forward, anger rising. “You think this is about fear?”
“I think it’s about the part of you that doesn’t hate me as much as you should.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Say that again.”
He took a slow step closer, voice low. “You heard me.”
Silence bloomed — heavy, electric.
Her heartbeat drowned out everything.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered.
“Only with you.”
“Stop—”
“Make me.”
Dante
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Maybe he didn’t want to.
Her eyes burned — molten defiance wrapped in silk. And in that second, he knew he was lost.
He moved closer. One step. Then another. Until there was no air left between them. His hand rose to her jaw, tilting her chin upward.
He should have stopped.
But he didn’t.
Their mouths crashed together, heat against hunger, fire against fire. It wasn’t gentle; it was war. She tasted like defiance, like the edge of something forbidden. Her fingers fisted in his collar, dragging him closer, and he let her — because the moment she kissed him back, the war ended and began all at once.
She broke away just enough to whisper, “I hate you.”
“I know,” he murmured. “Do it again.”
Her laughter — low, breathless — spilled against his lips before she kissed him once more, slower this time, almost tender.
And that scared him more than any blade ever had.
Alessia
His breath was fire. His touch, ruin.
For a heartbeat, she let herself forget the families, the cameras, the crown of expectations crushing her skull. She forgot everything except him — the boy she should have feared, the man she couldn’t stop wanting.
When their lips parted, she was trembling. Not from fear. From something far worse.
He rested his forehead against hers. “We shouldn’t,” he said, voice rough.
“I know.”
“Then why can’t we stop?”
Her throat ached. “Because you make me feel alive, even when I want to hate you.”
Dante’s eyes darkened, something almost human flickering there. His thumb brushed her cheek — a rare, dangerous softness.
“Wanting me will destroy you,” he said.
She smiled faintly, eyes glimmering. “Then maybe destruction is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
The night wind stirred her hair, and for a moment, they just stood there — two souls on the edge of a kingdom built on lies, bound by something that shouldn’t exist.
When he stepped back, the distance hurt more than she expected.
Dante
He forced himself to move away before he did something even more foolish — like tell her the truth.
That she wasn’t just a pawn in his father’s game.
That she’d become the only part of this war he couldn’t control.
Tomorrow, the world would celebrate their engagement.
But tonight, all he could see was the fire in her eyes, the promise in her silence.
He exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow, they’ll call it peace,” he said. “But we both know what this really is.”
She looked up, defiant even in vulnerability. “A declaration of war.”
He almost smiled. “Then let’s burn beautifully.”
He turned away, his footsteps fading into the mansion’s hollow corridors.
Alessia
When he was gone, the silence pressed in — thick, intoxicating, endless.
She looked down at her hand and saw a thin line of blood where a rose’s thorn had caught her skin. One perfect drop fell to the marble, bright as a jewel.
A crimson vow.
Not of love.
Not yet.
But of fire.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, she already knew — once the flames started, there’d be no saving either of them.
- Writer
