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.