Page 25 of The Don's Eternal Vows

My heart clenches. "No," I growl, but doubt creeps in like poison. "You're lying."

Another vision materializes—Genoveva wandering endless, grey streets, lost and alone. Her delicate features contort with anguish. The stutter I've always found endearing is now a constant, painful stammer as she tries to find words for strangers, to find her way back, and no one understands what she wants.

I close my eyes, willing the images away. My hands clench, making my knuckles white. "It's not real," I mutter, but my voice wavers.

I see a rope hanging from a ceiling, Genoveva seeking peace as she climbs onto a chair. “Stop it,” I bellow, putting my hands over my eyes in a desperate attempt to stop seeing.

“You’re in the river of woes, mortal,” Charon laughs, a brutal edge to his tone. “And woes you see here oft become a reality.”

“I control my destiny,” I say over and over again, shaking my head and trying to get the horrible images out.

“But hers? Do you control hers, too?” he asks.

Tears pool in my eyes, and I force my mind to remember her—joyful and happy. But the only face that comes to me is her immeasurably sad face. It seeps into my soul, her sorrow. If I lose faith, what of her?

“No,” I scream again. “I will show her joy. I will remind her,” I tell Charon, and think back to all we’ve lived through.

I force myself to remember rather than foretell. Our past makes us who we are, and Genoveva will be reminded of all the joy in her life and will feel it again.

A memory surfaces. The world shifts, blurs, reforms. The muted colors of the underground disappear, replaced by the vibrant hues of a sun-drenched afternoon. The air is thick with the scent of summer and heavy with the promise of adventure.

"Gianni, come on!" Genoveva's voice rings out, clear as a bell. She stands waist-deep in the river in nothing but her azure blue bikini, her hair wild and dripping, eyes sparkling with mischief. "The water's perfect!"

I feel a smile tugging at my lips, unbidden. "You know I can't resist when you look at me like that," I call back, already shrugging off my shirt.

She laughs, the sound echoing off the water. "Then don't resist, my love. Join me."

I wade in, the cool water a shock against my sun-warmed skin. Genoveva's eyes never leave mine as I approach.

"Caught you," I murmur, wrapping my arms around her waist.

She leans in, her lips brushing my ear. "Did you? Or did I catch you?"

The water glistens on Genoveva's breasts like a thousand tiny diamonds, each droplet catching the sunlight. Her laughter fills the air, a melody more intoxicating than any wine I've ever tasted. I'm mesmerized by the curve of her neck, the flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips part as she smiles up at me.

"You're staring," she teases, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

"Can you blame me?" I reply, voice husky. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The memory fades, dissolving like mist. I blink, and I'm back on the boat, again. The contrast is stark, painful. Where there was warmth, now there's only cold. Where there was laughter, now there's only the whisper of the wind through barren branches.

But there’s a promise of joy to come. And Charon can no longer convince me otherwise.

"Nice try," I snarl, meeting Charon's gaze unflinchingly, refusing to see in the mist he conjures. "But our future isn't yours to dictate. We make our own destiny."

I lean forward, my voice low and dangerous. "Genoveva and I, we're not some fairy tale romance. We're forged in hardship, tempered by blood. Whatever comes, we face it together.

The silence stretches, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the boat until it scrapes against the rocky shore, and I rise, my muscles taut with anticipation. I step onto the misty bank, the ground shifting beneath my polished loafers.

"This is where I leave you, mortal," Charon rasps, his voice like gravel. “The Gates of Hades.”

Chapter 12

Gianni

As I stand at the precipice of the underworld, my breath catches, my pulse hammering as I take in the scene before me.

The gate looms tall and unyielding, a monument to the dominion of death itself. Its iron structure twists into intricate, unsettling patterns, dark and rusted as though it’s bled through time itself. Swirling vortexes pull my gaze inward, while jagged, dagger-like edges jolt it back, creating a dizzying tapestry that seems alive.

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