blood and vows

THE LAST BROTHER

The snowstorm swallowed the world whole.

Wind ripped through the trees with a feral scream, carrying the scent of blood—Lorenzo’s blood—across the mountains. The forest seemed alive, breathing in ragged gasps as if it knew death was moving through its heart.

Marco ran.

His vision blurred, his side drenched red, breath slicing through frost like broken glass. The cold gnawed at him, ate him alive, but he didn’t stop. Rage kept him upright. Hatred kept his pulse pumping.

Love—twisted, poisoned, delusional—kept him fighting.

“Lorenzo…” he growled into the storm. “Still playing hero. Still stealing what’s mine.”

Branches whipped his face as he stumbled deeper into the dark.

Behind him, distant shouts echoed through the trees.

De Luca soldiers.

Hunting him.

But he wasn’t running from them.

He was leading them.

---

Inside the Lodge

Lorenzo’s vision faded in and out like a dying bulb.

The bullet had gone deep. Too deep.

He leaned heavily against Isabella as Lucio wrapped a cloth around his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The fabric soaked through instantly.

“Boss, we need to move you—now,” Lucio urged, eyes frantic.

Lorenzo exhaled through gritted teeth. “No. Not leaving… not yet.”

“Lorenzo,” Isabella whispered, cupping his face, “you’re losing too much blood—”

“What about Marco?” Lorenzo rasped.

Lucio cursed under his breath. “Still out there. We’re tracking him.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

He tried to stand.

His knees buckled.

Isabella caught him, her arms barely strong enough, but holding him as if her entire soul depended on it.

“No,” she breathed. “You’re done fighting for tonight.”

Lorenzo shook his head, stubborn even on death’s edge.

“I finish this,” he rasped. “I end him. My way.”

Isabella grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“No, Lorenzo. This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about you living. If you die tonight, Marco wins.”

Something flickered in Lorenzo’s eyes.

Pain.

Fear.

Love.

And then—

A sound.

One that replaced every heartbeat in the room.

A scream.

From somewhere deep in the forest.

Lucio stiffened. “That was one of ours.”

Lorenzo’s face hardened instantly.

Marco was killing again.

---

The forest was a killing ground.

One soldier lay in the snow, throat slit cleanly. Another dangled from a branch, body twisted unnaturally, his rifle still strapped to him. A third crawled through the snow, bleeding out, whispering a prayer.

Marco stepped over him.

“You boys never learn,” he sighed.

He picked up the soldier’s radio.

Static crackled.

Lucio’s voice came through: “Unit Three, report! Marco is headed north—repeat, north!”

Marco lifted the radio to his lips.

“Lucio… old friend.”

Silence.

Then—

“…Marco.”

“You sent children to hunt me,” Marco said calmly, stepping over the dying man. “You’ll need better.”

“You’re bleeding,” Lucio growled. “You won’t make it an hour.”

Marco smirked at the trees.

“Then I’ll make these last minutes count.”

He snapped the radio in half and kept walking.

The snow thickened. The wind screamed. And somewhere between the shadows—

Marco smiled.

Everything was unfolding perfectly.

---

Back at the Lodge

Lorenzo tried to force himself up again.

Lucio grabbed his shoulders. “Sit. Down.”

“I said—” Lorenzo growled—

Isabella pressed her forehead to his.

“Please,” she whispered. “Stay alive for me.”

Those words stopped him.

More than pain. More than bullets. More than blood.

He lowered himself onto the floor, breath shaking, and Isabella held him close.

Lucio crouched beside them. “He’s setting traps. He wants us to chase him blind.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tensed. “He wants me.”

“He’s going to get you killed.”

“Then send men after him,” Lorenzo snapped. “All of them.”

Lucio hesitated.

Isabella looked up sharply. “What’s wrong?”

Lucio swallowed. “Marco took something.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Lucio pulled a small, blood-stained object from his pocket.

A silver ring.

Lorenzo froze.

Isabella looked between them. “What is that?”

Lorenzo’s voice dropped to something dark and deadly.

“The De Luca oath ring.”

Lucio nodded grimly. “It means he’s invoking the family pact.”

Isabella frowned. “Which means what?”

Lorenzo closed his eyes.

“It means he wants a death duel.

Between brothers.

No interference.

Last man standing becomes the rightful heir.”

Isabella’s breath caught.

“No,” she whispered. “Absolutely not. Lorenzo, you can’t—”

“It’s law,” he said flatly. “Blood law. If I don’t face him, he can claim the throne.”

Isabella shook her head. “The throne doesn’t matter right now—YOU matter.”

But Lorenzo’s eyes had already emptied into something cold.

“He stole my family.

He stole my childhood.

He tried to steal you.

I won’t let him take anything else.”

Isabella reached for his face again.

“Lorenzo… please. Don’t go out there.”

He looked at her.

Really looked.

And his voice broke.

“I don’t have a choice, amore. Not this time.”

---

Lorenzo staggered to his feet, using the wall for support.

Lucio tried to stop him. “You can’t fight like this.”

“Watch me.”

“Boss—!”

Lorenzo grabbed Lucio’s collar, pulling him close with one burst of strength.

“If I die,” he whispered, “you protect her. With your life.”

Lucio’s eyes burned. “Don’t make me promise that. I’d rather follow you into hell.”

Lorenzo released him.

Then he turned to Isabella.

She stood trembling, eyes shining, jaw tight.

Her voice barely held together.

“Come back to me.”

Lorenzo brushed his thumb along her cheek.

“I will.”

“You swear?”

He leaned in, lips brushing her forehead.

“I swear to you. Even death won’t keep me away.”

Her tears finally fell.

Lorenzo stepped out into the storm.

The wind swallowed him instantly.

---

In the Forest

Marco stood in a clearing lit by moonlight, snow swirling around him like ash.

Blood dripped from his fingers.

His breath fogged the air.

His eyes were wild.

He looked up.

Smiled.

Footsteps approached.

Slow.

Heavy.

Painful.

Lorenzo stepped into the moonlight.

Pale skin.

Blood-dark coat.

A predator barely standing.

Marco spread his arms.

“Ah. The last brother arrives.”

Lorenzo’s voice was low, broken, deadly.

“This ends tonight.”

Marco tilted his head. “Which one of us walks out?”

“Me.”

“Confident,” Marco chuckled. “Even bleeding to death.”

Lorenzo lifted his gun.

Marco nodded. “Good. Let’s make it quick.”

They stared at each other.

Two brothers.

Two monsters.

Two ghosts of the same childhood.

The wind held its breath.

Marco whispered:

“Let’s finish what Father started.”

Lorenzo’s expression shattered into pure hatred.

And he fired.

Marco lunged.

The forest erupted.

---

Someone Will Not Survive

The fight was brutal.

Savage.

Bone against bone.

Blood against snow.

A past too violent to stay buried.

Marco drove a knife into Lorenzo’s shoulder—

Lorenzo slammed Marco into a tree so hard bark exploded—

Marco headbutted him, breaking skin—

Lorenzo broke two of Marco’s ribs—

They were killing each other.

Slowly.

Desperately.

Beautifully, in the way only brothers shaped by the same violent father could understand.

Then—

Marco gained the upper hand.

He pinned Lorenzo to the ground, straddling him, knife raised high.

“You were always the favorite,” Marco hissed. “Always the golden boy. Always the one he chose—OVER ME!”

Lorenzo spat blood into his brother’s face.

“He chose neither of us.

He made us animals.”

Marco screamed—and drove the knife down—

A gunshot split the night.

Marco froze.

His knife fell from his hand.

His breath hitched—

He looked down slowly.

A red bloom spread across his chest.

He turned his head.

Stunned.

Confused.

Betrayed.

“Isabella…?”

She stood at the edge of the clearing, gun shaking in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

“You don’t get to take him from me,” she whispered.

Marco staggered, collapsing to his knees.

He looked at Lorenzo.

A strange softness flickered over his face—like the ghost of the boy he once was.

Then he fell forward into the snow.

Still.

Silent.

Dead.

The storm swallowed his final breath.

---

Lorenzo tried to sit up, but agony ripped through him.

Isabella dropped the gun and ran to him, falling to her knees, hands frantic and trembling.

“Lorenzo—Lorenzo—look at me—”

He cupped her cheek with a bloody hand.

“You saved me…” he whispered.

“You saved us,” she sobbed.

Lucio and the soldiers arrived seconds later.

Too late.

Far too late.

Lucio froze at the sight of Marco’s body.

Then he knelt beside Lorenzo.

“We need to get you out now. You’re dying.”

Lorenzo’s eyes fluttered.

Isabella grabbed his face.

“No. No, no—stay with me—Lorenzo, PLEASE—”

His eyes closed.

His breathing slowed.

Lucio lifted him.

Isabella screamed.

“LORENZO!”

The storm swallowed her voice.