THE DEVIL'S VOW

The sunlight filtered through the tall windows, streaking the bedroom in hues of gold and fire.

Alessia lay awake, her body still, but her mind racing.

She hadn't slept. How could she?

Not after last night.

Not after breaking into Dante's study, uncovering the truth—the proof that he had been sent to kill her.

Yet, here she was. Still breathing.

Dante had left her with a choice. Run, and he would hunt her. Stay, and she would learn just how much power she had.

She had stayed.

But not for him.

Not because she trusted him.

She had stayed for revenge.

For answers.

And for the war that was coming.

A sharp knock at the door cut through her thoughts.

Before she could answer, the door swung open.

Dante stood there, dressed in a black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins flexing beneath golden skin. Effortless power. He didn't need weapons to be dangerous.

He was a weapon.

"Get up." His voice was low, commanding.

Alessia sat up slowly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

"You always barge into a woman's bedroom uninvited?" she asked coolly.

Dante smirked. "You're my wife."

"A technicality."

His smirk widened. "Keep telling yourself that, wife. It won't change a damn thing."

She ignored the way his words settled under her skin.

"Why are you here?"

Dante leaned against the doorframe, watching her like a predator who enjoyed playing with his prey.

"Get dressed," he said. "You and I have somewhere to be."

Alessia narrowed her eyes. "And where exactly are you dragging me?"

He tilted his head, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"You want answers, don't you?"

Her breath hitched.

"Then you're coming with me."

The Devil's Playground – A Mafia Gala

The drive into the heart of Rome was silent.

Dante sat beside her in the back of the black SUV, his presence a storm barely contained.

Alessia refused to let him see her uncertainty.

She had spent her entire life surrounded by men like him. Men who wielded power like weapons, who killed without hesitation, who used silence as a means of control.

She would not fall into that trap.

"Where are we going?" she asked, breaking the tension.

Dante glanced at her. "You'll see soon enough."

His vague response infuriated her.

But before she could push further, the car pulled into a grand estate.

Alessia recognized it instantly.

The DeLuca Mansion.

Her blood turned to ice.

Dante slid out of the car, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before turning to offer his hand.

She ignored it and stepped out on her own.

Dante chuckled. "Still stubborn."

She shot him a glare. "Still a controlling bastard."

He smirked, leading her toward the towering iron gates.

Inside, the estate was a display of wealth and power—gold chandeliers, black marble floors, and an ocean of men in tailored suits and women in diamonds.

But Alessia didn't care about any of that.

She cared about the man standing at the center of the room.

Luca DeLuca.

He turned, eyes gleaming with amusement as he spotted them. "Ah, Dante. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

Dante smiled—a sharp, calculated expression. "And miss a party? Never."

Luca's gaze slid to Alessia. "And you brought your new bride."

Alessia forced a serene expression.

"Luca," she greeted coolly. "I see you've wasted no time filling my father's place."

Luca laughed. "Someone had to."

Her nails dug into her palm.

Dante's fingers brushed against her lower back—a silent warning.

Alessia inhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain calm.

If she lost control now, she would lose everything.

The Devil's Games

The night stretched on, filled with false smiles and sharper threats.

Dante moved through the room like he owned it.

And in many ways, he did.

Every man watched him carefully, every woman eyed him like he was a god carved from sin.

Alessia hated how easily he played this game.

She hated even more how she had to play it with him.

"You're enjoying this," she muttered under her breath.

Dante smirked, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Immensely."

She glared at him. "You dragged me here for a reason. What is it?"

Dante tilted his head. "Patience, wife."

"I have no patience for games, Dante."

His eyes darkened. "Then you're in the wrong world, Alessia."

Before she could respond, a voice cut through the air.

"Salvatore."

Alessia turned, her breath catching.

Marco Vitale.

A name she hadn't heard in years.

A name tied to the darkest corners of the mafia world.

Marco was an arms dealer. Ruthless. Cold-blooded. A man who thrived in war.

And the moment his gaze landed on her, his lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.

"Well, well," Marco murmured, stepping closer. "The Romano princess is now a Salvatore queen."

Alessia's spine stiffened. "Vitale."

His smirk deepened. "I was sorry to hear about your father. But then again—" His eyes flickered to Dante. "—it seems you've found… comfort elsewhere."

Dante's entire body tensed.

The room grew dangerously quiet.

Alessia lifted her chin. "Careful, Marco."

He chuckled. "Still fiery, I see."

Dante moved then.

Not fast, not aggressive. But with a deadly precision that sent a silent message.

He stepped between them, his presence an impenetrable wall of power.

"If you have something to say," Dante murmured, "say it."

Marco's smirk didn't falter.

But he held Dante's gaze for a long moment before stepping back.

"Enjoy your evening," he said smoothly, turning away.

The moment he disappeared into the crowd, Dante exhaled slowly.

Alessia stared at him. "What the hell was that?"

Dante's jaw tightened. "That was a warning."

"From Marco?" she scoffed. "He's a relic of the past."

Dante's eyes locked onto hers. "Not from Marco."

A chill slithered down her spine.

Not from Marco.

From someone else.

Someone even worse.

Her stomach twisted.

Dante had known.

That's why he brought her here.

Because the real war was only just beginning.

As Dante led her out of the mansion, Alessia stole one last glance at the shadows behind her.

Somewhere in that room, someone was planning her downfall.

And she would burn them first.