Page 28 of The Don's Eternal Vows

How sweetly she nodded. "That's when I saw it. The way you looked at me... like I was your whole world."

She softened my heart. "You were. You are."

“To imagine,” she whispered, intertwining her hand in mine, “from then to now…”

“From friendship to life partners,” I smiled, gently squeezing her hand as my thoughts drifted to that fateful time. For years, we thought we could be just friends, until time proved otherwise. No matter how many women batted eyes at me, I only ever had eyes for me. No matter how many years passed by, I never sought another.

And neither did she.

And when I learned her father was in the mafia, and the time came for me to take my reign, it was only right that a proposal be made to solidify my power. Our families were overjoyed to see two powerful families unite as one to create the most powerful syndicate Rome has ever seen.

I think of her warm smile on that first day of school, of her fierce protection that blossomed into love. I can't fail her now.

"Get. Off. Me!" I roar, swinging wildly at the phantom limbs. My fists pass through empty air, but the action itself seems to push them back, if only for a moment.

I stumble forward, legs leaden, each step a battle against exhaustion and bone-deep cold. But I won't stop. I can't. Genoveva is waiting, and I made a vow. In life or in death, I will always find my way back to her.

Desperation claws at my insides as I fight against the relentless tide of spirits. My pride, my strength—they mean nothing here. But I won't go down without a fight.

"You want a piece of me?" I bellow, my voice rising to a defiant roar that echoes through the endless gray of the Meadows. "Come and get it, you spectral bastards!"

The spirits press closer, their whispers a haunting chorus. "Give up," they hiss. "Surrender to us, Raven. Your strength means nothing here."

"Like hell it doesn't," I snarl, breaking into a run. My feet pound against the misty ground, each step sending shockwaves through my body. I'm gasping for air, my lungs burning, but I push on.

The spirits pursue, their cold fingers brushing against my neck, my arms, my back. I shudder but don't slow down.

"Genoveva," I pant, her name a talisman against the darkness. "I'm coming for you, amore mio."

My heart thunders in my chest, drowning out the whispers that urge me to give in. I won't. I can't. The thought of failing her, of breaking my vow, is more terrifying than any specter in this godforsaken place.

I run on. Let them chase. Let them whisper. I am Gianni Montagna, and I will not abandon the woman I love.

Chapter 13

Gianni

My lungs burn as I sprint through the hazy expanse of the Fields of Asphodel, away from it, towards god only knows what. All I know is that I need to be away from the dead, for their cold will seep through my soul and kill me here and now. The angry wails of lost souls echo behind me, grasping at my heels. I push harder, my feet kicking up ashen dust with each desperate stride.

A spectral hand grabs my ankle. I stumble, nearly falling face-first into the ground of ash. I get a closer look—the dust of bones.

"Merda!" I curse under my breath. With a snarl, I kick free and run again.

Suddenly, the clawing hands fall away. I break free from the grasping crowd, stumbling into a clear patch of the field. I standfor a brief second, catching my breath, and then the dense mist parts ever-so-slightly, revealing a shimmering vision ahead.

A temple emerges, towering like a specter of light against the shadowed expanse. Its pristine marble façade gleams, a bright mortal glow in this gray, ghostly landscape.

I skid to a halt, the sheer magnificence of the structure rendering me momentarily breathless. I hesitate to step forward, disbelief flickering through my mind. It can't be real. Nothing in this godforsaken place is real.

The temple stretches imposingly, its Doric columns ascending like giants, each carved with brutal precision only the gods can render true. My eyes drift to the entablature above the columns, where detailed carvings show scenes from Hercules's twelve labors, each captured with incredible precision.

Every muscle, expression, and struggle in Hercules's journey feels so real, as though the gods and monsters might come to life at any moment.

And then, I see the jewels. “Incredible,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper as I run a hand through my damp, dark hair. The pediment rises above, triangular and flawless, its apex crowned with emeralds, rubies, sapphires and stones I’ve never seen before. Precious, beyond mortal understanding.

The temple is a feat of wonder, untouched by the decay around it—a silent defiance against death.

And it is for that reason that I make my way towards it. I don’t know where I must go, but for now, I must escape the harrowed souls chasing me.

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