Page 2 of The Don's Eternal Vows

Suddenly, icy hands grasp my ankles, dragging me down. The spirits of the dead, their hollow eyes pleading for release, rise from the ground, their fingers like iron, their sorrow a tangible weight. I struggle to break free, but their whispers crawl under my skin, urging me to surrender.

"No," I grit out, wrenching myself from their grasp. "I won't leave without her."

Hand in hand, we stumble forward, my every step an agony of determination. My wife’s mournful cries echo, pleading with me to turn back, to save myself for she can’t bear to see me being tortured so. I fix my eyes ahead, my jaw set. I will not fail her again.

The light is almost within reach—just a few more steps.

My breath catches as her hand slips from mine. No! I mustn't look back. But her wail of anguish tears at my heart and I hearher cry and scream and fight as the souls throw all the pain of hell on her, to keep her back, and in a moment of weakness to help her, I turn...

Our eyes meet, hers full of sorrow. The smile I had on my face dies, as she turns translucent right in front of my eyes, her form fading with each rushed step I take towards her.

“Nooo,” I scream, my hand outstretched to grasp her, but they pass right through. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as she evaporates completely, lost to me once more. Anguish such as I've never known crashes over me in waves. I fall to my knees with an animalistic howl, fists pounding the earth.

Triumphant laughter rings out as Hades appears. "You are mine now, fool."

Rage and despair are at war within me. I failed her. But I will not fail our children.

"One day, my blood will succeed where I could not," I vow, my voice ragged but firm. "This I swear on my soul, cursed though it may be."

Hades chuckles darkly. "We shall see, mortal King." He gestures, and skeletal hands burst from the dirt to drag me below.

As the world disappears, I cling to my oath, the children I left behind the last thing I think of. My line will triumph. For her. For them. This is not the end.

It can’t be.

Chapter 1

Genoveva

The moon hangs high, a pale ghost of the late night. I stand beside the bed in a lace negligee, bought just for tonight and Gianni’s eyes rake over my figure in hungry appreciation as I slide in next to him, my fingers instinctively tracing the planes of his face. While he’s as tired as he is now, the hard lines soften. No furrowed brow, no clenched jaw. Just peace.

My mind drifts to all that’s happened tonight—our twelfth anniversary. The memory shimmers fresh like candlelight. The grand hall had truly transformed into something magical: violinists all around, chiming laughter, arctic ice sculptures, a dance floor always full, delicate canapés being passed around on silver trays held in white gloves and hundreds of hugs and kisses.

"To us," Gianni had said towards the beginning of the end of the night, raising his glass. Crystals clinked all around. His eyes, usually sharp as a blade, were warm. Tender. Set only on me.

I'd smiled, basking in his gaze. "To us."

The room had fallen silent. All eyes on us. I could feel their envy, their awe. He was the most powerful man in the city, and he was mine.

Now, in the quiet of our bedroom, I trace the scar on Gianni's cheek. A reminder of darker days that follow us in cycles, given our station in life. It’s not easy on him, heading one of the most powerful mafia factions in the world. He’s the don, but in bed, he’s my gentle giant.

He props an elbow and turns to watch me, his fingers casting lazy patterns on my thighs, carving over my ass to get a handful of what’s his. "Genoveva? How is it you’re so impossibly sexy?"

"Shh," I whisper. "I’m just taking it all in."

Gianni pulls me close, one hand strong on my ass, the other beneath my neck. "Tonight," he murmurs against my hair. "You were breathtaking."

I laugh softly. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Don Montagna."

His chest rumbles with a chuckle. Then, serious: "I saw how they looked at you. Like you were a queen."

"And you my king," I tease, but my heart swells. How can it not when I know he speaks the truth? Gianni is my anchor, the one who tethers me to all that’s good in this world.

Right now, as I watch him in the moonlight, I see that perfect, sculpted torso, and my heart races like a teenager’s. He’s the only man I’ve been with, and he’s more than any I’ve ever met.

He leans closer, taking his thumb and forefinger to bring my chin closer to his. His eyes rake into mine for a moment before gliding down to my lips, which are already parted in anticipation.

“After all these years,” he moans, “you still make me feel wild.”

---