Blood Oath

Sienna's POV

There is peace in silence or so I used to believe before the knock shattered my sanctuary, before the quiet cradle of stone and incense was torn from me like a ripped page from scripture. Now, silence feels like a warning. A stillness before a storm.

The convent bell had just struck midnight, a dull toll that echoed through the old stone walls like a heartbeat. I was in the chapel alone, as I often was when sleep evaded me, seated on the third pew from the altar, fingers curled around the rosary that had once belonged to my mother. Or so I'd been told. The candle flames flickered as if exhaling secrets.

I stared at the crucifix, waiting for the peace I usually found in prayer. It didn't come tonight. My thoughts were restless. My skin was prickling. My soul unsettled. I didn't know it then, but something had already shifted.

The first sign came with Sister Agatha's hurried footsteps. She rarely moved faster than a whisper, but now I heard her sandals slapping the stone floor, echoing louder than thunder in the dead of night.

She burst into the chapel, her gray habit fluttering like a ghost behind her. Her eyes landed on me, wide and filled with something I hadn't seen in years: fear.

"Child," she said, breathless. "They've come for you." I blinked. "What?"

She strode forward, grasped my hand with thin fingers. "Go. To the dormitory. Gather your things."

"I don't-what are you talking about?" I asked, standing. "Who's come for me?"

Her answer was the second sign that nothing would ever be the same. "Your family." I froze. That word meant nothing to me. Not really. I was abandoned at the convent's gate when I was barely five years old. No name, no history. Only a golden locket and a bloodied note tucked into my dress with the word Sienna and a symbol I would later discover belonged to a mafia family.

But Sister Agatha never talked about that. Neither did I. I was raised by nuns, educated by them, loved-if not with warmth, then at least with duty. I was never adopted. Never claimed. For sixteen years, I wondered if I was someone's shame, or someone's sacrifice. Either way, I learned not to ask.

So now, hearing your family has come for you felt surreal. Like a myth resurrected.

I let Sister Agatha pull me down the hall, past slumbering doors and flickering sconces, to the narrow room I called mine. She grabbed my satchel and shoved it into my hands. "They said you have ten minutes."

"Who are they?" She looked away. "Men. Not kind ones." That's when the fear truly set in. A chill crept over my skin as I packed, shoving books and my locket into the bag, changing out of my nightgown into a modest dress. My fingers trembled as I laced the front. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to leave. But I had the sense even then that refusal wasn't an option.

"They said you belong to the Rosettis," Sister Agatha murmured behind me. I stiffened. I'd heard that name only once before, whispered by an old priest who had mistaken me for someone else. A name associated with blood, power, and money. A name uttered with more fear than reverence.

"The Rosettis?" I asked. She only nodded before I could ask anything else, a new sound echoed down the hall. Boots. Heavy ones. Many of them. The door swung open without a knock. A man entered first-tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut in a way that screamed danger disguised in civility. He wore a tailored black coat and dark leather gloves. Behind him were two more, each built like walls, each armed.

My breath caught. I instinctively stepped back. The man in front assessed me like I was merchandise. His eyes were sharp, gray, and calculating. "Sienna Rosetti?" he asked. I didn't answer. "She's never used that name," Sister Agatha said softly. "She's known only as Sienna."

"Well, she'll have to get used to it." He nodded to the others. "Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I snapped, surprising even myself. The man tilted his head. He looked almost amused. "You don't have a choice." My fists clenched. "I don't even know who you are."

"I'm your escort."

"I didn't ask to be escorted."

"Tough," he said. "Orders are orders. The Don wants his daughter back." That word. Don. It silenced the room. "Daughter?" I whispered. "I don't... I don't have a father."

"You do. His name is Riccardo Rosetti. And you'll be seeing him in about eight hours." I shook my head. "There must be a mistake." He stepped closer. "No mistake, Sienna. You've been hidden long enough. Your father has enemies. And now, so do you." A hand closed around my upper arm one of the guards. I yanked back instinctively. Sister Agatha stepped forward. "Please. She's not ready-"

"She doesn't have to be ready," the man snapped. "She just has to move." They dragged me, gently but firmly, through the convent's ancient halls. My legs moved on autopilot, but inside, I was screaming. Not with fear-but with confusion, betrayal, anger.

Outside, the world looked different. It smelled different too-crisp with frost, stained with exhaust fumes and roses. A long black car waited beyond the iron gates.

I looked back one last time as the convent doors swung shut behind me. Sister Agatha stood in the archway, hands clasped to her chest, lips moving in prayer. I wanted to run back. To scream. To demand they explain why now? Why take me from the only home I've ever known?

But the car door opened, and everything inside me went quiet.bI slid in. The man-my "escort" followed. They drove for hours. The silence stretched between us like a chasm. I stared out the tinted window, watching fields turn into freeways, and freeways into a dark horizon. I asked no questions. He gave no answers.

But as dawn broke, casting a pale orange across the sky, I finally spoke. "Why now?" I whispered. He glanced at me. "Because you've come of age."

"That's it?" He exhaled. "You'll understand soon. But you're part of something bigger, Sienna. Something bloody. Something powerful. You were hidden to protect you. Now it's time to play your part." My throat tightened. "What part?" He gave me a slow, unreadable smile. "You're to marry Nico D'Amore." I blinked. The name meant nothing to me. But the way he said it made something in my stomach drop.

"And if I say no?" He turned his gaze back to the road. "You won't."

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to. The contract was signed before you were born." I stared at him in horror. "This is insane. You're telling me I was raised in a convent, kept from my family, and now I'm being forced to marry a stranger?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Why?"

"To end a war." A bitter laugh escaped me. "I'm a peace treaty?"

"You're a Rosetti. You're leverage. You're blood." The car slowed.

A tall iron gate loomed ahead, beyond it a massive estate draped in shadow and wealth. The Rosetti Manor. As we pulled through the gates, my heart pounded like a war drum. I wasn't just leaving the convent. I was stepping into a world of guns and secrets. Of power and marriage contracts. Of fathers I'd never met and enemies I didn't know I had and somewhere inside this gilded prison waited a man named Nico D'Amore. The man I was supposed to marry. The man whose name tasted like a threat on the wind.

Sienna's POV

They say you never forget the moment you meet the man you'll marry. That might be true. Especially if that moment feels like being thrown into a cage with a lion and told to tame it.

The gates to Rosetti Manor creaked open as if they hadn't been used in years, even though the estate radiated life. Not in the warm, welcoming sense. No. This was a different kind of life feral and glittering with danger.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion bathed in pre-dawn shadows. The driveway was lined with marble statues of angels that looked more like fallen warriors, wings chipped, faces cold. The building itself rose like a fortress, all sharp angles and blood-red stone.

My hand trembled as I gripped the door handle. "I'd say 'good luck,'" the escort beside me said, not unkindly, "but I think you'll need more than that." I shot him a glare and stepped out. Cold air slapped me in the face and then another kind of chill crept over me the sensation of being watched.

Dozens of eyes peeked from behind curtains, balconies, cars. Armed men in black lined the entrance, their guns slung like accessories. A few of them nodded to me some with indifference, others with curiosity. One even smirked.

It hit me then I was no longer invisible. I was Rosetti blood. And apparently, that meant something before I could fully process the scale of it, the main doors swung open, and a tall man in a velvet jacket stepped out. His hair was peppered with gray, but his posture screamed dominance cold, coal-colored eyes swept over me with impatience.

"Welcome home, Sienna," he said. I didn't move. This was him. Don Riccardo Rosetti. My father. He didn't hug me. Didn't touch me. Didn't even smile. Just offered a nod as if I were an employee arriving late to a meeting. "You'll be presented to your fiancé shortly," he continued. "I suggest you clean up." My voice was dry. "You haven't seen me in sixteen years and all you care about is presentation?" His expression didn't change. "I care about power. You are the Rosetti daughter. Start acting like it."

With that, he turned and strode back inside. I stood there for a second, the frost biting at my ankles. A part of me wanted to scream. Another part-an older, quieter part-just absorbed the hit and followed.

Inside, the mansion was worse than I'd expected-dark wood walls, chandeliers heavy with crystal, oil paintings of solemn ancestors watching from every corner. It smelled of cigars, cologne, and blood. I was shown to a guest room on the second floor. "Guest" being generous-it was bigger than the entire dormitory I shared back at the convent. A maid was already waiting with a dress laid out: black silk, slit high up the thigh, sleeveless, backless.

"You want me to wear that?"

"It's tradition to greet your fiancé formally," she said, not looking me in the eye.

"He's a stranger."

"He will be your husband."

The words settled like acid in my stomach. Still, I showered. My skin felt raw afterward, as if I could scrub off everything-fear, dirt, lineage. But nothing came off. I was still me. Still Rosetti.

The dress clung like sin. My hair, freshly combed and dried, fell in waves down my back. The maid applied a touch of crimson lipstick, and I didn't stop her. Let him see the fire he was inheriting.

An hour later, I was led to a small drawing room. The sun had fully risen now, pouring light through stained glass. A fireplace burned low. Men stood around the edges of the room-some in suits, some in tactical gear.

And then he walked in.

Nico D'Amore.

I didn't need anyone to tell me it was him. The room shifted around him. Gravity bent. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in all black, he looked like a prince from a dark fable-one written in blood instead of ink. His hair was raven-dark, his eyes the color of burnt silver. Sharp jaw, crooked scar just below his cheekbone and a presence that wrapped around your lungs like silk and then squeezed.

He moved like a man used to being feared. When his eyes found me, I stood taller. For a long moment, he didn't say a word. He just looked. Studied me. Stripped me bare with nothing but his gaze.

Then, finally, he walked forward. "Rosetti," he said in a voice made for threats and temptations. "So this is the hidden daughter."

I met his stare without blinking. "D'Amore. So this is the brute I'm supposed to marry." One of the guards coughed into his fist, clearly trying not to laugh. Nico's eyes narrowed just a fraction. Then he smiled-slow, dangerous, a curve of his lips that made my pulse trip.

"You've got teeth," he murmured.

"And you look like you bite."

He stepped closer. Too close. The heat of him was magnetic. His eyes dropped to my mouth. "Say the word," he said, "and I'll do more than bite." My breath caught-but I didn't flinch. Instead, I stepped forward too. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

"I don't need you to be afraid," he said softly. "I just need you obedient." I laughed-sharp and defiant. "Then you've picked the wrong bride." His eyes gleamed with something dark. "Oh no, Rosetti. I think you're exactly the one I want."

Before I could form a reply, Don Rosetti cleared his throat behind us. "Enough," he said. "We're not here for verbal foreplay." I wanted to strangle him.

Nico straightened and gave my father a nod. "I'll take her."

My fists clenched. "Take me?"

"She'll be moved to the D'Amore estate tomorrow. The engagement party is in four days. Wedding, two weeks after that." I stared at them both. "I'm not some crate of wine you're trading."

"No," Nico said without a trace of humor. "You're a blood promise. One that ends a war."

"You mean one that delays another one," I snapped.

He arched a brow. "Smart girl."

"I'm not yours."

"You will be."

He left then, just as casually as he'd arrived. Not another word. Not a look back. Just walked out like a storm that had passed through, leaving everything slightly off-balance. I didn't realize I was shaking until I gripped the edge of the fireplace mantel to steady myself.

This was him. Nico D'Amore. The man I was being forced to marry. The man who hated my bloodline. The man who looked at me like he couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss me or kill me.

And somehow, I wasn't sure which one I preferred either.

Sienna's POV

I've always believed that fate is a set of locked doors, and free will is the key you either find or forge.The day after I met Nico D'Amore, I decided to break out. Not just because of him, though his smirk haunted me like a curse. Not because of my father, who called me a peace offering like I was a bottle of aged whiskey. Not even because of the dress still clinging to the chair in my room, waiting for me to wear it like a noose. I decided to run because I finally understood something: in this world, women like me didn't get choices and I wasn't ready to give mine up.

The Rosetti Manor was larger than it appeared at first glance. The corridors stretched into wings and chambers like arteries in a beast, and most of the windows were sealed or barred. My room had one, but it opened only a few inches and faced a sheer drop to thorn-covered hedges below.

I didn't sleep that night. I sat by the fireplace, still in my black silk dress, clutching the locket I'd worn since childhood. Inside was a faded photo of a woman with my eyes and a folded piece of paper I'd never dared to open until now, with trembling fingers, I unfolded the yellowed paper. The ink was smeared, but three words were still legible.

"Run when ready."

My stomach dropped.

I didn't know who had written it. But the fact that someone had planted that message in the locket I'd worn since I was five told me this: someone knew what I was being led into.

And they'd wanted me to fight. I tucked the note back into the locket, closed it, and stood. Time to run.

The first thing I needed was information. That meant stepping into danger.

At breakfast, I walked into the family dining room with my chin high, a silk robe wrapped tightly over my shoulders. My father was already seated at the head of the long table, reading a newspaper as if he hadn't orchestrated the complete derailment of my life.

"You're late," he said without looking up. I sat beside him. "I'm not one of your soldiers." He folded the paper, finally facing me. "No. You're worse. You're sentimental." I ignored the insult and reached for a piece of bread. "I want to visit the greenhouse," I said, biting casually. He tilted his head. "You've been locked away for sixteen years, and the first thing you want is flowers?"

"No. I want air."

He considered. "Fine. Luca will escort you." Luca turned out to be the youngest of the guards-maybe mid-twenties, with a buzz cut, a Roman nose, and eyes too kind for this world. He followed me like a shadow as we walked toward the back of the estate. I kept glancing at the angles of the fences, the height of the garden walls. Mental blueprints were forming in my mind like puzzle pieces.

"Have you worked here long?" I asked, keeping my tone innocent. "Since I was seventeen," he said. "And how old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

"Do you like it?"

He smiled faintly. "It's a job."

"Have you ever tried to leave?"

His eyes flicked to mine, sharp now. "Why would I?"

"Right," I said smoothly. "It must pay well."

Silence.

I walked deeper into the garden. Vines spilled over marble statues, and black tulips bloomed among the roses. I noticed something that made my pulse jump-an old servant door, nearly camouflaged in the ivy-covered back wall.

Bingo.

That night, I waited until the manor slept or at least, pretended to.

The halls were dim, the chandeliers humming softly with dying light. My boots were silent against the stone floors as I slipped through the corridor, a satchel slung across my shoulder. Inside: cash stolen from the kitchen drawer, my locket, a switchblade I'd found in a drawer, and a bottle of water.

The plan was simple: out the servant door, down the hill, through the forest, and into town. From there, I'd find a phone, call a cab, and vanish. I didn't know where I'd go yet, but it would be anywhere but Nico D'Amore's estate.

The moon was fat and low as I stepped into the greenhouse. The air smelled of mint and earth. My breath clouded in the cold as I crouched beneath the ferns and pushed open the servant door.

It creaked.

I froze.

Footsteps. Behind me.

I turned just in time to see Luca emerge from the shadow.

"I should've known," he said softly.

"Let me go."

His jaw tightened. "I can't."

"You don't understand-"

He raised a hand. "No. I do."

He stepped closer, pulled something from his coat-a small silver pendant with a sun symbol etched into it. He held it out to me. "Your mother gave me this the night she disappeared. Told me to give it to you when you were ready." My heart stopped.

"What?"

"She said you'd run. And if you ever did, to follow you-not stop you." He pressed the pendant into my palm.

"She loved you," he whispered.

Tears stung my eyes. "I don't even remember her."

"I do. She was fierce. And kind. Like you."

I nodded slowly. "Then help me." He looked down. "I'll give you a five-minute head start." That was all I needed. I ran.

Branches clawed at my face as I sprinted down the hill. Mud clung to my boots. My breath was ragged, lungs on fire, but I didn't stop. I ran until the manor lights were just stars behind me, until the forest swallowed me whole.

When I finally reached the road, I collapsed against a rusted signpost and pulled out the burner phone I'd taken from one of the staff desks. I dialed a random cab company I'd seen on a kitchen flier. An hour later, headlights broke through the trees. A red sedan pulled up. I opened the door-and found him inside.

Nico D'Amore. Arms spread over the backseat, dressed in black-on-black, eyes like frozen steel. My stomach dropped. "Going somewhere, Rosetti?"

I reached for my blade. He was faster. His hand closed over mine. "Cute," he murmured, wrenching the knife away. "But stupid."

"How did you-?"

"Luca called me."

I blinked in betrayal. He chuckled. "Don't be mad. He did exactly what I told him to do."

"You planned this?"

"I wanted to see how far you'd get." His gaze burned into mine. "Congratulations. You made it further than I expected." I tried to shove him. "Let me go." He grabbed my wrists and yanked me close. His breath was warm against my skin.

"No."

"I'm not your prisoner."

"No," he said. "You're my bride."

I slapped him. The sound echoed like a gunshot. He stared at me. Then, to my shock-he smiled. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you in, Rosetti." I bared my teeth. "And I'm going to enjoy watching you try."