CRIMSON VOWS

Name: CRIMSON VOWS
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

A.olawise

Others | Ongoing

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Prologue Rain fell in sheets over the Sicilian coast, drowning the sound of gunfire that echoed through the night. A young woman in a crimson dress sprinted down the cobblestone alley, blood mingling with rain on her skin. Behind her, shadows moved-lethal, relentless. But she didn't look back. She couldn't afford to. ---

Suspense Mafia

Chapter 9 BLOOD AND ECHOES

04-21 09:17

Chapter 1 The stranger in velvet

**Chapter One: The Stranger in Velvet**

The bass thrummed through *Velvet* like a second heartbeat, the air thick with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and whispered secrets. Isabella Romano moved through the crowd with the effortless grace of a woman who had long mastered the art of survival in places like this-where Milan's elite came to play, to sin, and, if they weren't careful, to bleed.

Her stiletto heels clicked against the polished floor as she balanced a tray of champagne flutes in one hand, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. The club's lights cast shifting shadows across her face, gold and crimson, like the embers of a dying fire. Two years of hiding in plain sight had taught her one truth: in this world, armor was best worn beneath silk.

She was behind the bar, polishing a wine glass with deliberate slowness, when the atmosphere shifted.

A hush rippled through the crowd near the entrance, followed by the low murmur of voices-some nervous, some awed. Isabella didn't need to look up to know that something dangerous had just walked in. She could feel it in the sudden tension coiling in the air, in the way the hairs on the back of her neck lifted in warning.

And then she saw him.

Matteo De Luca stood framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders cutting through the haze of colored lights like a blade through smoke. He wasn't just handsome-he was *lethal*. From the cold precision of his gaze to the way he carried himself, as if the world had already bowed to him once and would do so again without question.

The heir to the De Luca empire.

The man who had turned her father's ruin into his dynasty's triumph.

Isabella's fingers tightened around the glass in her hand, her pulse betraying her with a traitorous leap. She had spent years burying the name *Romano* beneath layers of cheap glamour and borrowed time, but one look from him, and the past came rushing back like a tide of broken glass.

He moved through the crowd with the ease of a predator, men stepping aside without being asked, women casting glances they hoped he'd return. He didn't. His gaze was fixed on one person only.

*Her.*

Matteo slid onto a barstool with the confidence of a man who owned every room he walked into. Up close, he was even more devastating-his jawline sharp enough to cut, his dark eyes like polished obsidian, reflecting the flickering lights but giving nothing away.

"A tequila for the lady," he said, his voice a low, velvet rasp that slid over her skin like a touch.

Isabella set the glass down with deliberate care, refusing to let her hands shake. "I didn't order one."

His lips curved, slow and knowing. "You will." A pause, deliberate. "By the time the night is over."

The promise-or threat-hung between them, heavy as a blade suspended by a thread.

Isabella arched a brow, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Confident, aren't we?"

Matteo leaned forward, just enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne-smoke and something darker, something that made her stomach tighten. "I don't need confidence when I have certainty."

She scoffed, reaching for a bottle of bourbon just to give her hands something to do. "And what exactly are you *certain* of, Mr. De Luca?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "That you've been hiding from me, Isabella."

Her breath hitched. He knew her name. Of course he did.

She forced a laugh, pouring the bourbon with steady hands. "Hiding implies I was looking to be found."

Matteo watched her, unblinking. "You can't run forever."

"Who says I'm running?" She slid the glass toward him, their fingers brushing for the briefest second. A spark of heat flared where skin met skin, and she hated the way her body reacted-like it remembered him, even if she didn't.

"Your father did," Matteo murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Right up until the moment he couldn't."

Isabella's blood turned to ice.

This wasn't just a game. This was a hunt.

And she was the prey.

She leaned in, close enough that her next words were for his ears alone. "Careful, Matteo. Some debts are paid in blood."

His gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering in its depths. "Then it's a good thing I've never been afraid to get my hands dirty."

The music pulsed around them, the bass vibrating through the floor, through her bones. The club was alive with movement, with laughter, with sin-but in this moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

Isabella held his stare, her heart pounding against her ribs like a caged thing.

The game had already begun.

And she had no intention of losing.