Page 35 of The Don's Eternal Vows

Gianni

With trembling legs, I turn away from the River Lethe, its murky waters fading out of sight. My breath catches as I lift my gaze. Rising against the starless sky is a dwelling, a monument to beauty and terror so profound it feels like the air itself bows in reverence.

Jagged spires of obsidian twist impossibly high, their razor-sharp edges catching a cold, divine glow. Archways fashioned from the polished bone stretch between towers, defying gravity. The palace pulses with a faint, ominous light, as though alive, and the very sight of it fills me with both awe and dread.

I’ve seen grandeur as a don—mansions draped in gold and wealth—but this is something else. No mortal hands could have crafted this monstrosity. It’s a place only a god could dream into existence.

It could belong to just one. Hades.

I clench my fists and force my feet to move toward the only place I’ve sought since entering this wretched underworld. Being so close to the finish line, each step forward feels burdened by all manners of thought, but by the third, my mind is resolute. If Hades denies me, I’ll beg for death to claim me on the spot. There’s no life worth living without Genoveva.

The ground beneath my feet becomes treacherous, jagged and unstable. I scan the terrain ahead and freeze. A chasm splits the path in two, its depths an endless void of writhing darkness. My eyes follow the only route across—a narrow bridge of gleaming obsidian, impossibly thin and cruelly arched. It trembles under the weight of the wind.

My stomach churns. I’ve never feared heights, but this? The fall feels infinite, the bridge as fragile as a thread. The voices of the damned rise faintly from below, whispers of anguish carried on the icy breeze.

“One foot in front of the other,” I mutter, running a shaky hand through my hair. My fingers graze the dried blood on my scalp, and strangely, the reminder of past battles survived steadies me. I take a step, then another, until I stand at the edge. The chasm exhales a cold wind that chills me to the bone.

I place my first foot on the bridge. The obsidian groans under my weight, a crack splintering outward. My heart lurches. I freeze, forcing myself to breathe.

"Steady," I whisper.

The wind picks up, howling like a living thing. It claws at my coat, trying to unbalance me. I lean forward, pressing into the gust, and take another step. The bridge sways ominously.

The mist shifts and I make the mistake of looking down into the abyss below—a sea of ghostly figures clawing and writhing, their translucent forms tangled in endless torment. Their cries rise in a cacophony of sorrow that claws at my soul, making my knees buckle.

My vision swims as the darkness pulls at me, beckoning. The faces of the damned blur together, but I swear I see familiar ones. Old enemies. Betrayed allies. Innocents whose blood stained my hands.

“Merda,” I hiss, wrenching my gaze upward. “Focus.”

The bridge sways violently as though reacting to my hesitation. My arms pinwheel for balance, and I drop to one knee, gripping the slick surface—pain flares as the sharp edges bite into my palms, grounding me. The wails grew louder, deafening, desperate.

A spectral hand bursts from the abyss, clawing at my ankle. Cold shoots up my leg like ice in my veins. I kick instinctively, the force shattering the hand into a mist that retreats into the void. But more follow, grasping and clawing, their nails slicing at my legs.

“Not today,” I growl at Hades, teeth clenched.

On all fours, I scramble forward, my hands and knees scraping against the bridge. I can feel the damned souls pulling at my strength, their voices invading my mind with whispers of doubt and regret. But I press on, dragging myself inch by inch.

The bridge shifts again, a massive piece breaking away behind me and tumbling into the void—my heart hammers. There's no going back now.

“Just like Nonna’s tightrope,” I whisper, imagining the backyard games of my youth. But there’s no soft grass below me now—only death.

A gust of wind slams into me, nearly throwing me off balance. I stagger to my feet, arms outstretched for balance. The end of the bridge is in sight, just a few steps away.

Then it happens. The bridge groans one last time, and a large crack splinters beneath me—the obsidian quivers. I lunge forward, my body instinctively reaching for solid ground. My hand catches the edge of the chasm as the bridge collapses behind me.

My fingers scrape against jagged stone, blood dripping into the void below. With a guttural scream, I pull myself up, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. I roll onto solid ground, gasping for air.

The cries of the damned fade into the distance, leaving a suffocating silence.

I lie there for a moment, staring at the starless void above. My heart pounds like a war drum, but I’m alive.

“Dio mio,” I mutter, wiping blood and sweat from my face.

I rise on trembling legs, turning toward the gates of Hades. They loom before me, massive and grotesque, forged from blackened bone and carved with scenes of torment. The palace spires stretch higher than I imagined, writhing with trapped souls that claw silently at their prison.

My breath catches up again, but I shove the fear down. Genoveva’s face flashes in my mind—her laughter, her warmth. She’s waiting for me.

I step forward, my footsteps echoing like a death knell against the pure-white pathway.

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