blood and vows

THE WOLVES UNLEASHED

The sky was still bruised with the last traces of night when Lorenzo De Luca stepped into the courtyard, the cold morning air biting at his skin. Dozens of men stood before him—armed, silent, waiting. Engines idled in the background like hungry beasts ready to tear the city apart.

Lorenzo’s presence was enough to quiet even the wind.

He wore the same black shirt from the night before, though someone had stitched the torn sleeve. A dark coat rested on his shoulders, the collar turned up, casting a shadow across his jaw. He looked like a king stepping into battle… or a wolf who had already decided who would die by sunrise.

Lucio approached him. “The teams are in position.”

Lorenzo didn’t nod. He simply scanned the faces of his men—old soldiers, loyal guards, fighters trained from the shadows of his father’s empire. Every one of them would die for him. And all of them knew he might die today.

“Marco wants a war?” Lorenzo said, voice steady, chilling, final.

“Yes, boss,” Lucio answered.

“Then we give him one.”

He turned to the men.

> “No hesitation. No mercy. Bring him to me alive if possible…

But if he resists—

kill him.”

The command rolled through the courtyard like thunder. Guns clicked. Doors slammed. Tires bit into gravel as the first convoy sped out the gates.

Only then did Lorenzo glance back at the mansion.

At her window.

Isabella’s curtains were closed, but he felt her presence. He wondered if she felt his too. Wondered if she would hate him when she learned what he was willing to do in her name.

“Boss,” Lucio said quietly, “You should leave now.”

Lorenzo didn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until he whispered to the morning:

“Wait for me, Isabella.”

Then he stepped into the car.

The war began.

---

Isabella woke to the faint sound of engines fading in the distance. At first, the quiet confused her. Then she saw the empty chair near the door… the one Lorenzo had sat in all night.

It was cold now.

So was the room.

Her chest tightened. She pushed the blankets aside and hurried to the window. The courtyard was nearly empty—just a few guards and the lingering smell of diesel.

He was gone.

A whisper escaped her lips before she could swallow it.

“Lorenzo…”

She pressed her palm to the glass, breathing shakily.

She had never feared losing someone this way. Not even her family. Not friends. But Lorenzo… Lorenzo was her storm and her shelter. The fiercest danger she had ever known, and the safest place she had ever felt.

She didn’t understand how he had become both.

Footsteps approached. Isabella turned just as Lucio knocked gently and stepped inside.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

Lucio hesitated—not long, but enough for her heart to crack.

“He left at dawn. The first wave of teams hit Marco’s old pharmacies and warehouses. Nothing yet. Lorenzo is with the primary strike group.”

“I want to go,” she said instantly.

“No.”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

“And I’m not giving you an option.”

She stepped closer, anger flaring. “Lucio, he’s going to kill Marco for me—”

“And you think being there will help him?” Lucio snapped, eyes sharp. “You think he’ll fight better with you in the line of fire? You think he’ll win if he’s too busy trying to keep you alive?”

Isabella froze.

Lucio softened a little. “He won’t survive if you’re there. And neither will you.”

Her shoulders sagged. Tears threatened. “I can’t just sit and wait.”

Lucio exhaled a slow, heavy breath. “Then pray he comes back.”

Her heart twisted.

Because she already was.

---

The convoy reached the first target: a hidden apartment complex near the docks. Marco had used it for years to smuggle weapons under the cover of moving crates. But today, the only thing flowing through its corridors was death.

Gunfire erupted the moment Lorenzo stepped inside.

Lucio’s voice barked through the radio: “Left hallway clear!”

Lorenzo moved like a predator—silent, precise, unstoppable. One man lunged. Lorenzo shot him in the chest without breaking stride. Another tried to flee. Lucio tackled him, slamming his head into the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

The entire building was cleared in minutes.

But Marco wasn’t there.

Lorenzo dragged the last surviving thug by the collar and threw him against the wall.

“Where is he?” Lorenzo growled.

The man spat blood. “Go to hell.”

Lorenzo didn’t blink. He pressed the muzzle of his father’s gun to the man’s forehead.

“I asked you a question.”

“He left!” the man shouted. “He moved to a new safehouse—somewhere underground—he said you’d never find it!”

“Where?” Lorenzo demanded.

The thug swallowed. “The old tunnels. Below the abandoned chapel.”

Lucio stiffened. “Lorenzo… that place is a maze.”

Lorenzo’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

“Then we’ll burn it to the ground.”

He pulled the trigger.

The war moved.

---

Deep beneath the abandoned chapel, Marco paced through the long, echoing tunnel lit by flickering work lamps. Chains rattled. Water dripped. And on an iron table… lay documents, maps, and weapons ready for the final confrontation.

His second-in-command approached nervously. “He’s coming, boss. We caught chatter on the radio. He’s headed straight for the chapel.”

Marco smiled.

Perfect.

“Let him come,” Marco said. “Let him see how it feels to lose everything.”

“What about the girl?” his man asked.

Marco’s smile widened.

“She stays alive. For now. She’s my insurance.”

A cold laugh echoed through the tunnels.

“He thinks he’s hunting me. But in the end… he’s walking into his grave.”

He lifted a detonator from the table, admiring it like a jewel.

“And I’ll make sure Isabella watches him die.”

---

Hours passed.

No calls.

No messages.

No updates.

The mansion grew colder with every minute Lorenzo stayed gone.

Isabella paced back and forth, fingers shaking, breath uneven. Every time a guard walked by, she flinched. Every time a radio crackled, she froze. Fear crawled under her skin until she could barely breathe.

Finally, she grabbed her coat.

Lucio blocked the doorway instantly.

“Move,” Isabella said, her voice dangerously soft.

“You’re not going.”

“Lucio, I swear—”

“Isabella,” he said firmly, “I would die for Lorenzo. And he would kill me if I let you step outside.”

Her voice cracked. “I can’t lose him.”

Lucio’s jaw tightened.

“You won’t,” he whispered. “He fights harder for you than he has for anyone.”

A tear fell.

Then another.

Lucio sighed. “Come on.”

He led her downstairs to the security room—walls covered in monitors, radios buzzing with coded chatter.

“Sit,” he said. “Watch. Listen. But do not move from this room.”

She nodded weakly.

On the screens, she watched Lorenzo’s convoy racing deeper into the city.

Her heart followed him.

---

The abandoned chapel stood alone on a hill, old stained glass broken, roof half-collapsed, the cross bent like a dying soldier. The air around it smelled of ashes and old secrets.

Lucio’s voice whispered from the radio: “Teams are in position.”

Lorenzo stepped out of the car.

“The tunnels are beneath the floorboards,” Lucio added. “There’s no map. No blueprint.”

“I don’t need one,” Lorenzo replied.

He pushed the heavy doors open.

The chapel groaned.

Inside, candles flickered on the altar. A message was carved into the wooden floor with deep, jagged strokes.

WELCOME, BROTHER.

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched.

He stepped down the aisle—slow, controlled.

Then he heard it.

A click.

The floor gave way beneath him.

Lorenzo dropped into darkness.

---

On the security monitor, Isabella saw movement inside the chapel.

She leaned forward—

Then the screen flickered.

Static.

“Lucio?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

The guard at the controls cursed under his breath. “Signal is gone—it’s blocked.”

“Try another angle!” she pleaded.

Nothing.

Lucio ran into the room, breathless. “We lost all visuals.”

Isabella pressed a hand to her chest. “No… no… no…”

Lucio hesitated, then knelt in front of her.

“Listen to me,” he said softly. “Lorenzo has survived worse.”

She shook her head violently. “Not this. You don’t understand—Marco wants him dead. He planned this. He—”

The radio crackled sharply.

Lucio grabbed it. “Lorenzo? Lorenzo, do you copy?”

A faint voice came through—broken, distorted.

“…trap… underground… explosives…”

Isabella’s blood turned to ice.

Lucio’s face drained of color. “He’s in the tunnels.”

Isabella whispered, “He’s going to kill him. Marco’s going to bury him alive.”

Lucio swallowed hard.

And for the first time… he couldn’t deny it.

---

Lorenzo landed hard on his shoulder, rolling through a pile of dirt and metal fragments. His gun flew out of reach. Pain shot through his body, but he forced himself upright.

He was in a tunnel.

Dark. Narrow. Damp.

Footsteps echoed.

Marco emerged from the shadows, clapping slowly.

“Welcome to my world, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo grabbed his knife from his belt.

“I’m going to end you,” Lorenzo said coldly.

Marco laughed. “Brother, you’re in a labyrinth of explosives. One wrong step and we both die.”

“Good,” Lorenzo spat. “Then I’ll drag you to hell with me.”

Marco tilted his head.

“Still thinking like a king,” he mocked. “But tell me… Where is your queen now?”

Lorenzo lunged.

Marco dodged, swinging a metal pipe at his head. The impact rang through Lorenzo’s skull, sending stars exploding across his vision.

But he didn’t fall.

He grabbed Marco by the throat and slammed him into the wall.

Marco choked on laughter.

“She screamed your name,” he hissed. “When I took her.”

Lorenzo snapped.

He punched Marco so hard the man slid to the ground, coughing blood.

But before Lorenzo could strike again—

A soft, rapid beeping filled the air.

Marco grinned. “Too late.”

A timer lit up on the nearest wall.

00:02:59.

The tunnels were rigged to blow.

All of them.

Lorenzo’s eyes widened.

Marco whispered:

> “Let’s see if your love survives fire.”

---

Isabella stood, trembling.

“Lucio,” she whispered, “take me there.”

“No.”

“TAKE ME THERE!”

Lucio froze.

The look on her face wasn’t fear anymore.

It was resolve.

The kind Lorenzo carried.

The kind that started wars.

Lucio exhaled shakily.

“Get her a vest,” he ordered the guards.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

She just whispered:

“I’m coming, Lorenzo.”

—