blood and vows

WHEN BLOOD CALLS BLOOD

The sun had barely risen above the treeline when the De Luca mansion erupted into motion again. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, radios crackled with urgent static, and engines roared to life outside. The world was waking… but Lorenzo De Luca had not slept.

He was still in the same clothes he had worn the night before, blood drying on his sleeves, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. But his mind was awake—sharper than ever. Every nerve, every instinct, every breath was anchored to one truth:

Marco wasn’t finished.

Marco never stopped.

And Marco wanted Isabella.

Lorenzo stepped out into the hall just as Lucio approached from the staircase, a folder tucked under his arm.

“You’re up?” Lucio asked.

“I never went to sleep.” Lorenzo’s voice was gravel—not tired, but dangerous.

Lucio swallowed. “We got intel from one of the men you… questioned.”

Lorenzo gave him a cold, silent look.

Lucio quickly corrected himself. “Interrogated. Professionally.”

Lorenzo’s jaw twitched. “Show me.”

They walked together down the hall. Lorenzo kept his eyes forward, refusing to glance at Isabella’s door even though his body reacted to its presence like gravity. Every step closer to the stairs felt heavier. He didn’t trust himself to look at her—not while preparing for war.

Lucio handed him the folder.

“Marco has a new safehouse,” he said. “One we didn’t know about.”

Lorenzo flipped through the photos—grainy surveillance images, warehouse schematics, a list of weapons crates.

“How did we miss this?” he asked.

“He moved in last week,” Lucio replied. “Kept it off the grid. No cars registered. No utilities. He uses generators. Only trusted men guard it.”

Lorenzo’s mouth curved into something dark. “Good. That means fewer witnesses.”

Lucio hesitated. “You want to take it tonight?”

“No.” Lorenzo closed the folder. “I want to take it now.”

Lucio blinked. “Now? We just got back a few hours ago—”

Lorenzo’s voice dropped to a growl.

“Marco kidnapped Isabella. He put his hands on her. He threatened her in front of me. I’m already hours late.”

Lucio exhaled, defeated. “I’ll get the men.”

---

Isabella

Her sleep didn’t last long.

She woke just after dawn, sunlight warming her face. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was. The room felt quiet, safe, soft… nothing like the cold horror of Marco’s hideout.

Then she turned her head.

And froze.

Lorenzo was still there.

Sitting in the chair beside her door, arms crossed, chin resting on his chest. His gun lay across his lap, one finger still curled near the trigger even in sleep.

He looked… peaceful. Vulnerable. Human.

Her heart clenched painfully.

She rose quietly from the bed, the wooden floor creaking under her feet. Lorenzo’s eyes snapped open instantly.

He stood.

She gasped. “I—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” His voice was low, rough. “I wasn’t asleep.”

She stared at him. “You were.”

He ignored the correction and stepped closer. “How do you feel?”

She swallowed. “Better… because of you.”

His jaw tightened, as though the words affected him in a way he didn’t want to show.

“I need you to stay in the mansion today,” he said. “No going outside, no windows, no doors, no—”

“Lorenzo.” She touched his arm gently. “I’m not made of glass.”

His muscles stiffened beneath her fingers.

“Marco is coming for you,” he said quietly. “I can feel it.”

“Then don’t go after him alone.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped away—distance a shield he couldn’t keep up for long.

“I have to finish this,” he said. “If I wait, he’ll make another move.”

“And if he kills you?” she whispered.

Lorenzo didn’t blink.

“Then Lucio will take my place. And he’ll keep you safe.”

Her breath left her body like it had been torn out.

“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t get to talk like that.”

For the first time, Lorenzo’s expression broke.

He reached toward her—then stopped, hand suspended in the air between them.

“Isabella,” he said, voice cracking so subtly only she heard it,

“You’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose.”

She stepped closer.

And this time… he didn’t pull away.

---

The Call That Changed Everything

Lucio appeared at the doorway.

“Lorenzo,” he said carefully, “the ambush teams are ready.”

Isabella tensed. “Ambush?”

Lorenzo shot Lucio a warning look, but she placed a hand on his chest.

“Don’t keep secrets from me,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Then his phone rang.

He answered immediately. “De Luca.”

A voice crackled through the line—one Lorenzo recognized instantly.

> “Lorenzo… it’s Matteo.”

Isabella gasped, covering her mouth. She leaned closer, her eyes wide.

Lorenzo stiffened. “Matteo? You’re alive?”

> “Barely.”

Static cut through the connection.

> “I… I got away. Marco’s men took me north. I escaped when the truck crashed. But—”

“But what?” Lorenzo demanded.

> “He moved her.”

Lorenzo’s blood went cold. “Moved who?”

> “Marco moved Isabella.”

Lorenzo’s heart stopped.

“But she’s here,” he said slowly.

Silence.

The voice on the phone whispered, terrified:

> “Lorenzo… that’s not Isabella.”

Isabella turned white as a sheet.

Lucio took a step back, eyes wide.

Lorenzo’s hand tightened around the phone, knuckles turning bone white.

“What do you mean?” he said, voice deadly calm.

Matteo coughed, weak.

> “Marco is using a decoy. A double. The real Isabella is still with him.”

Lorenzo turned his head slowly toward the woman standing in the doorway.

Her.

Isabella.

Or…

The woman who looked exactly like her.

She whispered, trembling:

“Lorenzo… I’m right here.”

Matteo’s voice cracked through the static.

> “He found a girl who looks just like her. Same age. Same height. Same features. He paid her family. Threatened them. Told her to play the part. Lorenzo—he knew you’d come for her. He wanted you distracted while he finished the real plan.”

Lorenzo’s gun rose before he even realized he’d drawn it.

He pointed it at the woman.

She raised both hands, terrified. “Lorenzo, please—please—I’m not lying! I don’t know anything about a decoy—!”

His finger tightened.

Lucio grabbed his arm. “Lorenzo! Stop—think!”

Lorenzo’s pulse hammered in his throat.

“Where is she?” he demanded into the phone.

Matteo whispered:

> “North… the mountains… an old hunting lodge… hurry…”

The line went dead.

Silence crushed the room.

The woman—now clearly not Isabella—fell to her knees, sobbing.

“I didn’t want to pretend,” she cried. “He threatened my brother. He said he’d kill him. I swear—I didn’t know his real plan. I didn’t know—”

Lorenzo stepped toward her.

She flinched.

But he lowered his gun.

And said,

“Lucio. Lock her in the west wing. She’s not the enemy. She’s another victim.”

Lucio nodded.

But Lorenzo didn’t look at either of them.

He was already walking away.

Toward the stairs.

Toward the door.

Toward war.

Lucio called after him, “Lorenzo—WAIT! You can’t go alone!”

Lorenzo didn’t stop.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t breathe.

He simply said:

“Marco took her from me twice.

I’m not letting him survive a third time.”

And the mansion door slammed behind him.

---

Marco

The hunting lodge was dark, cold, and isolated. Snow dusted the windows. The wind howled through the mountain pass like a trapped animal.

Isabella—the real Isabella—sat tied to a wooden post, her wrists raw and bleeding. Her head hung low, hair falling in tangled waves around her bruised face.

Marco poured himself another glass of whisky and sat across from her.

“You know,” he said casually, “your little double is doing a wonderful job distracting him.”

She lifted her head slightly, hatred burning in her swollen eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Love makes men insane,” Marco chuckled. “Especially men like Lorenzo.”

He stood and approached, crouching before her.

“You’re his weakness,” Marco whispered. “His downfall. His soft spot.”

He grabbed her chin roughly.

“And tonight… you’re his grave.”

She spat blood at him.

Marco wiped his cheek and laughed.

“You have fire,” he said. “Pity it’ll die with him.”

He checked his watch.

“Any minute now… he’ll walk straight into my hands.”

Isabella’s heart stopped.

But only for a moment.

Because beneath the terror… beneath the pain… beneath everything Marco had done to her…

A spark burned.

A spark named Lorenzo.

And it whispered:

He’s coming.

And he won’t come alone.