Toxic Vows

Alina Cruz had never believed in fate. She believed in science, in logic, in the stability of routine. That's why the night of her graduation from Columbia Medical School was supposed to be predictable-filled with cheap champagne, photo booth selfies, and awkward toasts from friends she would soon leave behind.

But fate had other plans.

The last thing she remembered was stepping outside the rooftop bar to take a call from her cousin. The cold air bit at her skin, and her heels wobbled slightly on the uneven cement. A black SUV pulled up, idling silently beside her. Before she could react, the door slammed open.

Gloved hands.

A cloth soaked in something sharp and chemical.

A blur.

Then darkness.

She woke up in satin sheets.

Her mouth was dry. Her throat, sore. Panic bloomed slowly as her vision adjusted. She sat upright, the sheets slipping off her shoulders to reveal a pale blue slip-definitely not what she had been wearing when she blacked out.

"Where the hell-" Her voice cracked, brittle with fear and confusion.

The room was dim, cast in amber light from a chandelier above. Thick velvet curtains blocked any sign of the outside world. Mahogany furniture lined the space-old, expensive, and definitely not hers. On the dresser sat a silver tray with a bottle of water and a single note card.

She snatched the card.

You are safe. Do not try to run. I only want to talk. - D.M.

Her stomach dropped.

D.M.?

She grabbed the bottle of water, drank it with trembling hands, and stood. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet as she stumbled toward the door. It wasn't locked. That surprised her more than anything.

The hallway beyond was silent. Dark wooden walls. Oil paintings of men in suits and ancient weapons. No windows. No signs of life.

"Hello?" she called out.

A voice answered from behind her. Cold. Low. Controlled.

"You're awake."

Alina spun around-and her breath hitched.

He was tall, dressed in black, his face carved from stone. Midnight eyes. Sharp jawline. Hair slicked back like he had just stepped out of a noir film. Hands behind his back. Still as a statue.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm the man you're going to marry," he said simply.

Alina blinked. "Excuse me?"

He stepped forward slowly, and her instincts screamed to back away. "My name is Damian Moretti. You've heard of my family, I'm sure."

Her heart pounded. Moretti. Everyone in New York whispered that name. Organized crime. Arms deals. Disappearances. Her father used to lower his voice when mentioning the Morettis. Dangerous people, he called them.

Alina's voice cracked. "I'm not marrying anyone, especially not a damn criminal."

His eyes glinted with quiet amusement. "You don't have a choice. Your family made sure of that."

She stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Damian tilted his head slightly, studying her like a puzzle. "Your grandfather, Don Salvatore Cruz, made a deal with my father two decades ago. A blood vow. If the Morettis protected the Cruz family from collapse, the Cruz heir-his granddaughter-would one day marry into the Moretti bloodline."

Alina felt dizzy.

"My grandfather is dead."

"His promises are not," Damian replied coolly.

Alina's hands curled into fists. "You're insane."

Damian didn't flinch. "You're already here. The paperwork is being prepared. The priest arrives in three days."

"I won't do it."

"You will."

She took a shaky step back. "What's stopping me from leaving right now?"

He smiled faintly. "Try it."

Alina bolted.

She turned the corner, ran down the hallway, threw open a door-only to find another hallway. Another turn. Another locked door. She ran faster, barefoot on cold marble floors, her pulse pounding like a war drum.

She found the front entrance.

Bolted shut with a steel lock and a biometric scanner.

"Stupid," she muttered, slamming her palm against it. "Stupid, stupid-"

Damian appeared again-silent, composed. Not even out of breath.

Alina's chest heaved. "Why me? There are hundreds of women you could force into this circus. Why me?"

"Because you're Cruz blood," he said simply. "And because I don't trust anyone else."

She glared. "You're making a mistake."

He stepped closer, invading her space. "Maybe. But I never break a vow. And neither will you."

Alina spat at his feet. "You don't know me."

Damian looked down at the spit, then back at her, his gaze unreadable. "No. But I will."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving her trembling in the foyer of a mansion she couldn't escape, with a man she was fated to marry.

Not by love.

But by blood.

And blood, in the Moretti world, was everything.