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The Devils Vow

The Devils Vow

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I was sold to the devil in a suit married off to pay a debt I did not owe. But Dante Moretti did not know that I would rather burn in his hell than be at his feet. When Selene Hart is forced into a violent marriage with the ruthless, calculating mafia tycoon Dante Moretti, her world plunges into a dark maze of power, deception, and control. What begins as a violent union slowly turns into something much more sinister, an obsession that neither can escape. He's ruthless, cold, and driven by vengeance. She's wild, fire-brained, and has secrets too. Their desire was never destined to happen but where trust is wielded as a weapon and deception seeps into every crevice, lust is their best curse. But where secrets remain hidden and blood-tainted pasts rise from the darkness, Selene knows that she is not only a pawn to Dante's throne, she could be the queen who brings it down. Here, vows are broken, allegiance is deadly, and love might just be the deadliest vow of them all.

Chapter 1 The Price of Betrayal

The odour of blood lingered. It clung to the air, seeped into the very fabric of the room, an intangible yet unmistakable presence. Even the cold breeze that drifted in from the open balcony doors could not clear it. It mixed with the acrid scent of stale whiskey, Cuban cigars, and the faint trace of gunpowder to create a potent cocktail of sin and brutality.

Dante Romano sat behind his high-backed leather chair, the very essence of power and cruelty. He dominated the spacious office not through speech, but through the fact that he did not need to speak. His silence was his greatest tool, and at present, it cut deeper than any bullet.

Facing him, Luca Moretti huddled on the cold marble floor, his head lowered, his frame shuddering. Sweat poured from his forehead, mixing with the blood dripping from the gash above his eye. His snow-white navy suit was ruined-torn, stained, a far cry from the perfect presentation he once took such pride in.

The man had once been powerful. Believed in. Admired.

Now, he was nothing more than a rat cornered.

Dante twirled the whiskey in the glass, watching the amber liquid whirl against the crystal like liquid gold. His movement was slow, deliberate, his every step planned to remind Luca of one thing: Dante controlled this room. Dante controlled it all.

He breathed softly. "Loyalty," he said, his voice low, almost reflective. "It's an easy thing, really." He looked up, his eyes holding Luca in a gaze that was impossible to decipher. "And yet, men like you make it so."

Luca flinched. "Boss, please... I swear, I didn't betray you." His voice was harsh, desperate. "Someone's lying to you. I would never"

CRACK.

The sound of the gunshot was blinding.

Luca's face twisted in a strangulated cry as Nico, Dante's second, shoved the burning barrel of his gun under Luca's temple. The bullet had not hit him, but the warning had been clear. An inch or two to the right, and Luca would be dead in his own blood.

Dante did not blink. He merely set his whiskey down, rising slowly with a languorous, almost fluid motion. He walked towards Luca, his polished shoes tapping out a death knell on the floor.

As he crouched beside him, Luca whimpered.

"Look at me," Dante instructed, his voice icily soft.

Luca hesitated. Then, with a visible shudder, he lifted his head. His puffed, bloodshot eyes conflicted with Dante's sharp, predatory gaze.

"Tell me something, amico mio."Dante tilted his head to one side, his expression unreadable. "What did you expect was going to happen when you betrayed me?"

"I"

Dante did not even grant him the luxury of speech. In a swift motion, he closed his hand over Luca's throat, holding tight but controlling it. Tight enough to harm, but not quite tight enough to kill.

Luca struggled for air, his fingers clawing up Dante's wrist. "P-please..."

"Know what I despise more than a traitor?" Dante pondered, his smooth voice like velvet. "A lying traitor." His arm clamped about his throat more tightly for half a second before he released him with a shocking suddenness and let Luca sag onto the ground, gasping for breath.".

Dante straightened, cinching the cuffs on his black coat. He hadn't needed Luca's confession. The evidence had been right in front of him,money transfers, covert meetings with rivals, plotting against him. Dante had known it all along.

His voice was even, quite bland. "Nico."

Nico required no instructions.

BANG.

Luca's body convulsed before falling lifelessly to the floor. A single shot, well-placed between his eyes.

Stillness fell over the room once more.

Dante breathed, cocking his head to the side like this killing had been nothing more than the next item on his agenda. And then, with no other glance at the corpse, turned away from the body toward his desk, resumed his whiskey.

"Get rid of him," he instructed.

Nico and one of the other enforcers quickly obeyed, dragging Luca's dead body out of the room and leaving behind a small trail of blood.

Dante drank his beverage slowly, his mind already on the next problem. Betrayals like these were inevitable. Power bred jealousy, and jealousy bred betrayal. He didn't take it personally. He just made sure that all lessons were permanent.

He was going to grab his cigar when his phone rang on the desk.

Unknown number.

His eyebrows drew together. He did not receive unknown numbers very frequently, those who had numbers in his personal directory already knew him.

A sick chill coursed through his belly.

He answered anyway. "Who is it?"

Nothing.

Then

"It's me, Dante."

The voice startled him, though his face remained neutral.

The liquor in his hand threatened to spill. His fingers tightened further on the phone.

"Elena.".

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A ghostly whisper of a name he hadn't spoken in years. A name that had meant everything. A name that only brought him anger now.

She had just vanished, removed from his existence as if she had never existed. No reason, no goodbyes. Gone.

And now, all these years on, she has the temerity to phone him?

His voice dropped into a killing whisper. "You got some fucking nerve calling me."

A shaking breath on the line. "I know."

Whatever was in her voice sent hair standing on end on his arms.

"I wouldn't have, but"

"But what?" His voice had gone razor-cold. "You walked, dolcezza. Left me. Now what? You going to waltz back in here?"

Silence.

Then

"I need your help."

Dante laughed. Hard, dark, humorless.

"Elena..." His voice turned mocking. "You disappear for years, and now, suddenly, you need my help?"

"Yes."

His jaw locked. "Why?"

Another silence. Then, in the softest, most fragile voice

"Because they're going to kill me."

Dante was frozen.

The room, the city, the world, it all stopped.

He stood up straight, his muscles coiled with tension. "Who?"

A pause. Then,

"Your brother."

His blood turned to ice.

The phone nearly dropped from his hand. His brother.

Marco Romano had been dead for five years. He had seen the body. He had buried the body.

"Elena," his voice coldly killingly calm, "what the devil do you mean by that?"

Before she could answer-

A scream.

A struggle.

Glass shattering.

"Elena!" Dante shouted, his entire body coiling.

The line went dead.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then Dante moved.

He raised his gun. "Take her to me," he ordered them, his voice a hard warning of war.

His men stepped into motion.

Because if Marco was still alive, if the one man to ever defy Dante's rule had returned

Then this wasn't about Elena.

This was a declaration of war.

And Dante never lost.

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