His Vow, Her Vendetta

Alessia POV

The cold March wind howled against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti penthouse, but it was nothing compared to the ice running through my veins. I stared at my reflection in the antique silver-rimmed mirror. Just minutes ago, I had died a gruesome death. Now, I was breathing. I was back. Back to the exact morning my death warrant was signed.

"The Don wants you gone before breakfast."

Angelina's shrill voice shattered the silence. The maid slammed a thick manila folder onto my white marble vanity. An expulsion agreement.

My loyal maid, Lucia, gasped, her face draining of color. Beside her, Silvana, my personal guard and a sworn Soldier of the family, instantly stepped in front of me, her hand hovering over the concealed holster beneath her blazer.

"Watch your tone, Angelina," Silvana warned, her voice a low, lethal growl.

Angelina sneered, emboldened by the secret backing of Dante's adoptive mother and my treacherous half-sister, Bianca. "I take my orders from the Don. He doesn't want to see a woman of your dirty blood anymore. Sign it and get out."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry like the pathetic, heartbroken girl I was in my past life. I slowly stood up, my gaze locking onto Angelina's. The sheer, murderous weight in my eyes made her falter. She took a step back, her arrogant facade cracking.

"Where is my husband?" I asked, my voice eerily calm.

"He... he is in his private office," she stammered, unable to withstand the pressure of a true Mafia Queen.

I picked up the papers-the very documents that had sealed my doom once before. I walked past her, heading for the door. Angelina, foolishly trying to regain her footing, stepped into my path in the dim, heavy-carpeted corridor.

"You can't just barge in there-"

I didn't even break my stride. "Silvana, teach her respect. Twenty times. Make sure she can't speak ill of her Queen again."

"With pleasure, *Signora*," Silvana replied.

Before Angelina could scream, Silvana grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her face into the gray marble wall. The maid dropped to her knees. Silvana's leather-gloved hand struck Angelina's cheek with a sickening crack. One. Two. Three.

As the brutal slaps echoed through the corridor, Silvana leaned in, her voice a deadly whisper meant only for the bleeding maid. "You dare disrespect the mother of the next Moretti heir? You're lucky she's merciful."

I left them behind, the scent of blood lingering in the air, and marched straight to the heavy oak doors of Dante's office. The sanctuary of the Don.

I didn't knock. I kicked the doors open.

The heavy scent of cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and leather hit me instantly. But it was the sight before me that made my blood boil. Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of New York, sat behind his massive mahogany desk. Standing right behind him, her hands intimately massaging his broad shoulders, was Bianca. My half-sister. The bastard child who had always coveted what was mine.

"Am I interrupting something, sister?" I asked, my voice dripping with venom. "Or are you auditioning for my position?"

Bianca quickly pulled her hands away, stepping forward with a perfectly crafted look of innocence. "Alessia, I'm so sorry, we were just-"

I didn't let her finish. I closed the distance and swung my hand, delivering a resounding slap across her face. The force of it sent Bianca crashing to the floor, a red handprint instantly blooming on her pale cheek. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock and pure hatred.

"Get out," Dante's voice boomed, cold and absolute. He didn't look at Bianca. His dark, lethal eyes were fixed entirely on me. "Sign the papers, Alessia, and leave."

He was discarding me. Again.

I walked around the desk, stepping directly into his personal space-a death wish for anyone else in the *Cosa Nostra*. I slammed the expulsion agreement onto his desk, leaning in until I could see the golden flecks in his pitch-black eyes.

"Are you sure, Dante?" I demanded, refusing to back down. "Is this what you want?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Yes."

I raised my hand and slapped the Don of the Moretti family across the face.

The sound cracked like a gunshot in the quiet room. Bianca let out a terrified shriek from the floor. Dante's head snapped to the side, his chest heaving as a terrifying, violent storm brewed in his eyes. No one touched the Don. No one defied him.

"I will ask you one more time," I whispered, my voice trembling with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and rage. "Is this what you want?"

He slowly turned his head back to me, his gaze promising absolute destruction. "Yes."

I backhanded him, harder this time, the sharp edge of my diamond wedding ring cutting a thin line across his sculpted cheekbone.

Alessia POV

The echo of the second slap hung in the heavy, cigar-scented air of the office. Dante's face remained turned, a thin red line from the sharp edge of my diamond ring slowly welling with a single drop of blood.

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. Instead, I slowly lowered my hand and rested it flat against my lower abdomen.

"I am carrying your heir, Dante," I said, my voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "The next Don of the Moretti family."

From the floor, Bianca gasped, the color instantly draining from her face as the reality of my words shattered her delusions. Dante's head snapped back to me. The violent storm in his pitch-black eyes froze, replaced by a shock so profound it momentarily stripped away his ruthless facade.

I held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. "If I walk out of this building without your protection, our enemies will put a bullet in my head before I reach the street. Is that the legacy you want for your son? To be born in a coffin? Is that the Vendetta you want to start over my dead body?"

Dante's jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. The Don in him-the absolute ruler sworn to protect his bloodline and avoid senseless war-warred with his pride. For the first time, his resolve to banish me fractured.

I didn't wait for his permission. I had delivered my ultimatum. I turned on my heel and marched toward the heavy oak doors.

Before my hand could even brush the brass handle, a massive hand clamped around my arm. Dante yanked me backward, his broad chest hitting my spine.

"So that's your play?" he hissed, his voice a low, furious rumble against my ear. "Using my son-my blood-to blackmail me?"

The accusation felt like a poisoned dagger twisting in my chest. He still thought the worst of me. I ripped my arm from his iron grip, turning to meet his lethal glare with absolute ice.

"I'm not using my child, Dante," I corrected him, my tone dead and hollow. "I'm using my life. There's a difference."

I didn't look back as I walked out of his sanctuary. At the threshold, Leo Falcone, Dante's imposing Capo and head of security, stood like a stone sentinel. He had heard everything. As I brushed past him into the dim corridor, I heard Leo's low, gravelly voice murmur into the office.

"Don, she is pregnant. You cannot let her leave alone."

The gray marble corridor felt suffocating, the heavy carpet absorbing the sound of my trembling footsteps. I just needed to get to my room. But a shadow stepped into my path, blocking my way.

Bianca. She had slipped out right after me, her eyes burning with toxic jealousy and a desperate need to win.

"Packing your bags, sister?" she sneered, crossing her arms in a pathetic display of triumph. "A Rinaldi will always be a Rinaldi. You don't have the stomach to be a Moretti Queen."

I stopped, looking at her not with anger, but with profound pity and disgust. She had no idea what world she was trying to play in.

"Perhaps Dante can keep you," I replied, my voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Every Don needs a whore for the nights his wife is otherwise occupied."

Her smug expression shattered. I turned my back on her, dismissing her entirely, and continued down the hall. It was the ultimate insult to a narcissist.

Behind me, a feral shriek tore through the quiet corridor.

"You bitch! Go to hell!"

Two hands slammed violently into my spine. The sheer force of the shove caught me completely off guard. My feet slipped on the thick carpet, my center of gravity failing as I pitched forward toward the unforgiving marble floor.

In that exact split second, the heavy oak doors of the office swung wide open, and Dante stepped out into the corridor.

Alessia POV

The floor rushed up to meet me. I braced for the crushing impact, my hands instinctively flying to my stomach to shield my unborn child.

But the impact never came.

A massive arm wrapped around my waist like a band of steel, jerking me backward with terrifying speed. I crashed into a wall of solid, burning muscle. Dante. His familiar scent-cedar, expensive tobacco, and pure, unadulterated violence-enveloped me.

He didn't just move; he erupted.

Before I could even catch my breath, Dante lunged. His large hand clamped around Bianca's throat. With a guttural snarl, he lifted her entirely off her feet and slammed her against the gray marble wall. The sickening thud echoed down the corridor.

Bianca's eyes bulged in sheer terror. She clawed frantically at his iron grip, her legs kicking at the empty air as her face rapidly turned a mottled purple. Dante's pitch-black eyes held no mercy, only the hellfire of a Don whose bloodline had just been threatened.

I steadied myself, smoothing down my dress. I looked at the pathetic creature dangling from my husband's hand, feeling nothing but absolute ice in my veins.

"Attacking the pregnant wife of a Don..." I said, my voice echoing in the deadly silence. "You just signed your own death warrant, sister."

Dante released his grip. Bianca collapsed to the carpet like a broken doll, gasping greedily for air. Realizing the sheer magnitude of her mistake, she crawled toward Dante, her tears ruining her makeup as she clutched at the hem of his tailored trousers.

"Dante, please! It was an accident! She insulted me first!" she babbled hysterically.

Dante stared down at her as if she were a disease. Seeing that her pathetic pleas were met with a lethal, unblinking glare, Bianca's eyes fluttered shut, and she slumped to the floor in a feigned faint. It was her classic, manipulative pity ploy.

Dante let out a dark, mocking sneer. Leo Falcone, having rushed down the hall, stood at attention.

"Take this trash to the basement cells," Dante ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I'll deal with her after I've made sure my wife is fine."

Leo didn't hesitate. He grabbed Bianca by the arms and dragged her limp body down the corridor like a sack of garbage. Dante turned to me. The murderous rage in his eyes was still simmering, but beneath it, I saw a raw, undeniable flash of concern.

He escorted me back to my bedroom in heavy silence. Once inside, I sat on the edge of the mattress and raised a trembling hand, stopping him from coming any closer. His jaw clenched, but he respected the boundary, turning on his heel to leave and handle the fallout of the attack.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the adrenaline crashed.

The silence of the penthouse deafened me. My breathing turned ragged as the near-death experience tore down the mental walls I had built. Memories I had suppressed-memories of my *past* life-clawed their way to the surface with violent clarity.

I remembered the freezing rain. The filthy alleyway where I had bled out, losing my baby after Dante had ruthlessly banished me. But now, the missing pieces of the puzzle finally snapped into place.

Dante hadn't banished me out of cruelty. He was losing his mind.

The slow-acting neurotoxin. I remembered the whispers that had shaken the New York underworld years later. Dante, completely consumed by the poison's madness, had attacked Salvatore, The Patriarch, during a high-stakes Commission meeting. Dante was executed on the spot like a rabid dog.

And the victors? His brother Lorenzo and my sister Bianca, hailed as the heroes who subdued the mad Don. I saw the phantom image of Isabella Moretti, Dante's mother, placing the Don's ring on her biological son Lorenzo's finger, while Bianca smiled triumphantly beside him.

They had built their throne on the corpses of my husband and my unborn child.

Dante was never the traitor. He was their first victim.

The bitter hatred I had harbored for him dissolved, replaced by a fierce, bleeding ache in my chest. He was fighting a war inside his own mind, poisoned by the woman he called mother.

I slowly stood up from the bed, wiping away a single, stray tear. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. I couldn't just wait for the poison to take him. I had to dismantle their network, piece by piece, starting with the weakest link.