The Nun's Vow To The Devil

Not Friendly People

Dante's POV

"The death of Mr. Armani was not taken lightly by House Nocturne. They believe you did it out of greed for their eastern territories," Luca said, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

I didn't look up from the glass in my hand. Whiskey. Always whiskey these days. The amber liquid caught the morning light streaming through the penthouse windows, turning it gold. Like her hair.

She was in my thoughts again. I never sleep with the nuns, I make them see their inner side that they cover with holiness, as if they are free from sin. I let them sit with realization and shame for being a disgrace for their so called father in heaven.

And I had done the same last night. But something about that silly martyr refused to leave my head. She clung to my mind like a leech. Was it her voice? The way she had taunted me? Her scent?

I had washed my hands more than ten times today but still I can smell her, feel her, see her on that table asking me if I was scared to touch her.

“Sir?”

He broke through my thoughts again. I looked up at him lazily.

Luca stood at parade rest near my desk—six-foot-four of tattooed muscle.

His neck bore the Salvatore crest in black ink, a mark he'd earned saving my life in Moscow three years ago. He was my right hand. My shield. The only person I trusted to stand behind me with a loaded weapon.

And right now, he looked concerned.

"They've already moved on two of our shipping routes," he continued. "Burned three warehouses in Milan. Killed five of our men." He paused. "Sir, they're not playing games. This is war."

War.

The word should have sharpened my focus. Should have sent adrenaline through my veins, triggered the cold calculation that had kept me alive for sixteen years in this world.

Instead, I kept seeing white lace. Green eyes. The way she'd looked at me like I was both salvation and damnation.

"Boss." Luca's tone shifted, harder now. "Are you listening?"

I took a slow drink. Set the glass down with deliberate care. "House Nocturne wants war over a drunk who couldn't keep his hands to himself?"

"He was Giuseppe Nocturne's nephew."

Ah. That explained it.

"Giuseppe Nocturne is an old fool clinging to power through family connections," I said. "His nephew was a waste of air who tried to touch what belongs to me. I would have killed him eventually. He simply accelerated the timeline."

"They don't see it that way."

"They never do." I leaned back in my chair, finally meeting Luca's dark eyes. "What do they want?"

"Reparations and an oil depot. Lastly, blood for blood." Luca's jaw tightened. "They want your head, Dante. Publicly. They're calling you reckless. Unstable. They're saying the killing was because it got personal, not business, which makes you weak."

Weak.

The word should have ignited rage. Should have sent me reaching for my gun to remind everyone what happened to people who called me weak.

Instead, I thought about hands that trembled when I lit cigarettes. About nightmares that had plagued me since I was nineteen.

About how a woman had told me that there is nothing special about me hurting people weaker than me. About a woman tied to a table, abandoned and wanting, whose defiance had stirred something I thought I'd killed along with my brother.

"Sir?" Luca stepped closer. "You need to make a decision. We can strike first—take out Giuseppe before he mobilizes fully. Or we can negotiate, offer something to satisfy their honor without giving up real power. But we need to move. Today."

I stared at him.

Then I asked the question that had been circling my mind since I woke at dawn, her scent still on my hands.

"Luca. I had something weird happen yesterday."

He blinked. "Sir?"

"I slept with a nun's lace in my hand." The words came out flat, factual. "With no nightmares. For the first time in sixteen years, I slept through the night without seeing Marco's face."

Luca's expression didn't change, but I saw the confusion flicker in his eyes. This wasn't the conversation he'd expected. This wasn't the Dante Salvatore who ruled through fear and cold precision.

"Is this redemption from the Lord?" I continued, almost to myself now. "Was the nun that pure that her presence drove the demons that worry me away?"

Silence.

I picked up the glass again, swirling the whiskey. Watching it catch the light.

"Il diavolo non merita redenzione, " I murmured. "Ma forse... forse il diavolo ha bisogno di un angelo per ricordargli cosa ha perso."

The devil doesn't deserve redemption. But perhaps... perhaps the devil needs an angel to remind him what he's lost.

Luca stood very still.

I could feel his concern radiating like heat.

"Sir," he said carefully. "Did you have an erection?"

The bluntness of the question should have annoyed me. Instead, my mind drifted back to her. White lace against pale skin. Green eyes blazing with defiance even as fear made her tremble. The way she'd arched on that table, the sounds she'd made, the wetness that had slicked her thighs.

My jaw tightened.

"Indeed," Luca said slowly, reading my silence correctly. "Perhaps the Lord is becoming merciful to you. Your father would be proud to know you will have an heir after you."

My gaze snapped to him, cold and sharp as a blade.

Luca coughed. "Sorry, sir."

I let the silence stretch, watching him shift his weight slightly. Good. He should be uncomfortable bringing up Lorenzo in my presence.

"Has the lady been sent back to the convent?" I asked.

Luca nodded. "Yes, sir. This morning. As you instructed."

As I instructed. Yes. I'd given the order before dawn, watching her sleep in the backseat of the car through the security feed.

Normally I would have sent her off like that. No clothes. But, I had them cover her with a blanket.

I'd told myself it was necessary. Clean break. One night. That's what I paid for.

But the lace was still in my desk drawer.

And I'd slept.

"The Nocturne situation," I said, pulling my focus back. "Set the meeting for tomorrow evening. Neutral territory. I want it public enough that they can't ambush us, private enough that when I make my point, no cameras catch it."

"Understood." Luca pulled out his phone, already typing. "I'll arrange security. Triple guard on all routes."

"Do it."

He turned toward the door.

"Luca."

He stopped, hand on the doorknob.

"Prepare a car," I said. The words came out before I'd fully decided on them. "I need to make a drive to the convent."

Luca's eyebrows rose slightly. "Sir?"

"I have something to do there."

"When?"

I stared at the empty whiskey glass. At the morning light still pouring through the windows. At the city of Prague spread out below like a kingdom I'd conquered but never truly owned.

"Soon," I said.