Shadows Of Vows

Chapter 6: Blood, Oaths, and Shadows

Continuation of Saints POV

Greyson’s voice still echoed in my head as I shoved open the office door.

"Not yet… I’ve seen how you look at her. There’s something deeper to this, Leonardo, and you know it."

The click of the door shutting behind me cut his voice off, but the irritation stayed lodged under my skin like a splinter. Love. Weakness. I’d told him exactly where I stood—where I would always stand. I just met the girl. Love is not in my vocabulary. I’m ruthless. Love makes you weak.

And yet…

I shoved the thought away, forcing my focus on what waited for me below. I had sent Greyson to fetch Emily from school since I had something bigger to deal with.

The scent of damp concrete and metal hit me first as I descended the narrow staircase into the basement. The air was heavy—thick with fear, sweat, and the copper tang of old blood. The sound of a single chain clinking echoed faintly.

The man was already there—tied to the steel chair in the center of the room, wrists bound so tightly the ropes bit into his skin. A single bulb swung overhead casting him in alternating light and shadow. His breathing quickened when he saw me.

“Boss—Saint—listen, I—”

I stepped into the light, slow and deliberate, letting my shadow fall over him before I spoke.

“You know why you’re here?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s… there’s been a mistake—”

I smiled without warmth. “The only mistake was thinking you could steal from me.”

My hand brushed over the table beside me, where Matteo had laid out the tools—a pair of pliers, a steel rod, a small blowtorch, and a blade so clean it almost gleamed blue under the light.

He flinched when I picked up the pliers, and I leaned in, my voice dropping.

“Who do you work for? And who were you stealing for?”

“I don’t—”

The pliers snapped shut on his pinky finger before he finished. A scream tore through the room, bouncing off the cement walls.

“That’s one,” I said quietly, placing the pliers back down with precision. “We’ll see how many you can get through before you find your memory.”

I circled behind him, letting the silence work on him. Silence was more dangerous than shouting—silence let the imagination do the work. I could hear the hitch in his breath, the way the chair creaked under his trembling.

I picked up the blowtorch, flicking it on with a sharp click. A blue flame hissed into life, bathing the corner of the room in ghostly light. I brought it close enough for the heat to kiss the side of his face—not enough to burn, not yet.

“You have five seconds to answer before I start making you unrecognizable.”

I began to count, each number slow and steady.

“One…”

The smell of gas filled the air.

“Two…”

His chest rose and fell in panicked bursts.

“Three…”

Sweat slid down his temple.

“Four—”

“Alright! Alright! It was Massimo De Luca—he paid me to—”

“Too slow,” I cut in. The torch flared against his shoulder. The scream that followed was raw, ripping through the air.

He sobbed, head dropping forward. “Please—I told you—I told you—”

I crouched so we were eye-level, my voice low and even. “And now you’ll tell me everything else. Names. Locations. Times. Every detail, or I’ll take more from you than just your fingers.”

It took another ten minutes of slow, meticulous persuasion before I had everything I needed.

When he was finished, I straightened, drawing the blade from the table. He looked up at me—eyes wide, blood and tears streaking down his face.

I gave you what you wanted,” he pleaded.

“And I told you… stealing from me has one punishment.”

The knife slid across his throat in one smooth, practiced motion. His body went still within seconds.

I dropped the blade onto the table, the metallic clink echoing as the room fell silent again.

Footsteps approached from behind. Matteo stepped into the doorway, surveying the scene with a faint smirk.

“That was ruthless,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I expected nothing less.”

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as the weight of the day pressed down on me. “Clean it up.”

Without another word, I walked out, the smell of blood still clinging to my skin. Another problem handled. Another reminder of why no one dared cross me.