Page 61 of Impure Vows

My hands tremble in my lap, and I dig my nails into my palms, trying to anchor myself. "Dante will come for me," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

Carlo laughs, a dark, chilling sound. "If he does, it’ll be too late. By the time he realizes you’re gone, you’ll be long out of reach."

I squeeze my eyes shut, the tears streaming faster. Every second that passes feels like another step away from any chance of rescue. "I hate you," I manage to choke out.

He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "The feeling’s mutual, darling."

30

DANTE

The party is in chaos, a murmur of nervous voices filling the air. My men scour every corner, checking behind curtains and in locked rooms. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. I pace the length of the grand hall, eyes darting to every shadow.

"Find her," I bark at Marco, who nods and heads toward the staircase.

He comes back empty-handed, and I can feel my blood boiling. "Anything?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous.

"Nothing, boss. We checked everywhere."

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to smash something. The frustration gnaws at me, threatening to explode. "Keep looking," I snap, the words dripping with venom. My eyes bore into Marco, making sure he understands there will be hell to pay if they don’t find her.

Marco hesitates, then approaches me with a grave expression. "There's something else," he says, his voice cautious.

I stop pacing and glare at him, every muscle in my body taut with barely restrained fury. "What now?" I demand, my voice a dangerous growl.

Marco swallows hard, avoiding my eyes. "Carlo's missing too," he says, his tone laced with unease.

I roar in frustration, the sound echoing off the walls. My hands clench into fists, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Marco stands there, the best man I have, and yet here we are, with Aliyah vanished into thin air. Things are looking pretty fucking bleak.

"Look again!" I bellow, my voice slicing through the air. My men scatter, a flurry of activity as they rush to obey. I refuse to believe she's just gone. Not Aliyah. Not my Aliyah.

Marco steps closer, his face tight with concern. "Boss, we've checked everywhere. It's like she disappeared."

I turn to him, my eyes narrowing. "Then check again," I growl. "I want every inch of this place searched. She has to be here."

Marco nods, his determination matching mine. "We'll get her, boss."

As he leaves, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. Aliyah is out there, somewhere. And I will find her. No matter what it takes.

My men scatter, the urgency in their movements reflecting my own growing panic. I can't believe I let her out of my sight. That bastard Carlo must have been planning this all along, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The rage inside me boils over and I slam my fist into the wall, the sharp pain barely registering through my fury. "This isn't over," I mutter to myself, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "I'll tear this city apart if I have to. No one takes what's mine and gets away with it."

My fists clench, the fury boiling inside me like molten lava. I have to do something. I spot one of Carlo’s men—his right-hand piece of shit—hovering near the bar, eyes darting nervously. Perfect.

I stride over, grab him by the front of his shirt, and yank him close until we're almost nose-to-nose. "Where’s Carlo?" I hiss, my voice ice-cold, sharp enough to slice through steel. His eyes widen in fear, the stench of his sweat mingling with the smoky air. "Tell me now, or I'll make sure you regret the day you were born."

The man’s eyes widen, fear creeping in, making him look like a cornered rat. "I-I don’t know, Mr. Russo. I swear."

"Wrong answer," I growl, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. Without hesitation, I pull out my gun. The cold steel feels good in my hand, like an extension of my rage, a promise of retribution. I press the barrel against his temple, feeling the slight tremor in his body. "Last chance," I hiss, my patience wearing thin. "Where. Is. Carlo?"

He stammers, but the words are useless. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger. The shot rings out, a deafening crack that reverberates through the room, mingling with the gasps and screams that erupt around us. Blood splatters my face, warm and sticky, a visceral reminder of the power I wield. I drop his lifeless body to the ground, his eyes still wide with unspoken terror. My gaze sweeps the room, cold and calculating, already seeking the next target, the next soul to break.

The party descends into chaos, guests scrambling like frightened rodents, but I remain laser-focused. Through the haze of panic, I zero in on another Vitale, a rat-faced little prick who's trying to slink away unnoticed. I stride over, my grip like a vice as I seize him by the collar and yank him close.

"Carlo. Where is he?" My voice is a low growl, leaving no room for mercy.

He shakes his head frantically, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat of his fear. "Please, I don’t know! I swear!" His words are a desperate plea, but I can see the truth—or lack of it—in his eyes.

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