Vows of blood:The mafia heir's bride

Alessia Moretti

I walked up and down inside the study. My feet were bare, and the floor was cold. Outside, the storm was strong. But it felt the same as the storm inside me.

Thunder rolled again.

I was not supposed to be here.

Books lined the wall. Old books. My father's books. I never touched them. Even now, I feel like I can't.

I stopped near the window and cross my arms tight on my chest.

Something was wrong.

I felt it in my bones.

Then I heard my uncle's voice from the hallway. He talked low with other men. I didn't know them. I only heard some words. Territory. Docks. One name I didn't hear clearly. Then one I heard very clearly.

"Valenti."

My stomach twisted. I felt like they were speaking about me. But I didn't know what they were planning.

I opened the door and walk out slow. Quiet. Like a shadow.

The voices came from the parlor and I moved closer

My uncle Carlo always had a way of filling a room without saying much. He stood near the fireplace, swirling a drink, dressed in a suit that looked very expensive. And it was.

People said he was sharp. A man of respect. My father used to call him "the backbone of the family," but I never quite understood what that meant. I only knew that whenever he looked at me, it felt like he was measuring something, my silence, my obedience, maybe even my worth.

He didn't scare me exactly. But I wouldn't say I trusted him either. He smiled a lot, but it never softened his face. It was more like a reflex than anything real.

Still, he was family. And in this world, that was supposed to mean something.

"He won't wait forever," one man said.

"Seven days is enough," my uncle said.

What is happening? Seven days for what?

If it didn't involve me then why did uncle call for me?

"Does she know?" the man asked.

It definitely involves me.

"Not yet."

"Then tell her. It's done."

Footsteps.

I turned around, went back to the study and tried to look calm.

I sat down in the leather chair, crossed my legs and waited

The door opened after a few seconds. My uncle walked inside like he owned the place. Well, I guess he does now.

Uncle didn't sit. He just stood and looked at me.

"Alessia," he said, "you are getting married."

The words hit me hard.

I blinked. "What?"

"To Dante Valenti."

My heart stopped beating for a second.

That name spelled trouble. Everyone knew him. Cold and dangerous. The Valenti's were notorious. The most sought after Mafia clan by every single international crime organisation. They made deals in blood, every contract signed with them was done with blood.

He was the worst of them.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"You want me to..."

"I want you to listen," he said hard. "This is happening. The wedding is in seven days."

I stood up fast. "You sold me off?"

"This is not about you."

"I'm the one who's getting married!"

Uncle walked closer. His voice sharp. "This family has debts. Your father....We are losing respect. This marriage helps us survive. Help you survive."

My hands shook. I closed them into fists.

"You could have asked me first."

"It changes nothing."

I laughed. "You're giving me to a man who fixes problems with guns."

"He isn't interested in hurting you ."

"Oh, wow. Lucky me then."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not a little girl anymore. You know how this life works."

"Yes. And I don't want it."

"There is no leaving."

I walked past him. My chest felt tight and my throat burned.

I already knew this. But still...

At the door, I stop. I look over my shoulder.

"I won't be quiet," I say. "I won't be soft."

He said nothing.

Narrator

Far away, in a big penthouse, Dante Valenti received the news of his marriage alliance without lifting his gaze from the glass of bourbon in his hand.

"The deal's finalized," his consigliere said. "She's yours now."

Yours. As if Alessia Moretti were a gift. An object to be claimed.

Dante set the glass down.

He had waited a long time for this moment. Not because he wanted a wife. Not because he believed in alliances forged through marriage contracts. But because Alessia was leverage.

She came with territory, loyalty, legacy.

He had spent years building an empire away from his family's that thrived in the shadows, fast, clean, ruthless. But the Moretti name still held weight in parts of the city he hadn't yet touched. Her father's territory. Her father's people.

The Morettis were weak now, but still had power in the south. Their docks in Naples are part of Valenti's smuggling channel. Luca Ferreti wanted them. Dante didn't like that.

Still, this wasn't just business. He'd seen Alessia once, months ago. A girl dressed in mourning black, surrounded by men who talked over her head and underestimated the steel behind her eyes.

She hadn't looked away from him then.

And now? She would be bound to him by name, by vow, by every promise her father had made and failed to keep.

He drank from his glass and looked at the city.

Matteo, his cousin, had told him on the phone, "She will fight you."

Dante smiled, "Let her."

Back at home, Alessia sat alone again.

Seven days.

Seven days before she lost her freedom.

Her chest hurt. But not from sadness.

From anger.

She looked at the fireplace and thought...

"He'll regret this."