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