Chapter 2 - The Crimson Vow
"For as long as she breathes," Dominic said, his voice flat and absolute.
Isabella looked at her son—the harsh lines of his jaw, the dark, unreadable eyes that had carried the weight of the Rossi empire since his father was murdered ten years ago. "Guards outside a hospital door won't stop a man like Victor Costa, Dominic. A witness is vulnerable. An outsider is disposable. But a Rossi?"
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He stared through the glass window of the Intensive Care Unit. Inside, Clara Evans looked fragile enough to shatter. Tubes snaked from her body, monitors beeped in rhythmic, fragile declarations of life, and her chest rose and fell only with the assistance of a machine.
"A Rossi is untouchable," Dominic whispered.
"Make her family," Isabella urged softly. "Give her the legal protection of our name. If Victor touches the wife of Dominic Rossi, it isn't a hit on a witness—it's an open declaration of full-scale war that every family in the Commission will condemn him for."
Ten minutes later, Father Thomas was summoned from the hospital chapel.
The priest’s hands trembled as he looked at the bloody tuxedos, the armed men standing guard in the corridor, and the unconscious woman fighting for her life. "Dominic... she cannot consent. She isn't even conscious."
"Her blood is on my mother’s clothes because she stepped in front of a bullet meant for a Rossi," Dominic replied, stepping closer. His shadow engulfed the priest. "I am giving her my name, my fortune, and my life as protection. Marry us, Father. Or God will have to explain to me why she died unprotected."
The ceremony took less than three minutes. There were no flowers, no vows exchanged, no applause. Just the smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic tone of the heart monitor, and the steady, cold voice of Dominic Rossi claiming a dying stranger as his bride.
When the priest finished, Dominic slid a heavy, vintage gold signet ring onto Clara’s swollen, bruised finger. He leaned down, his lips brushing the cold shell of her ear.
“Now anybody who comes for you comes through me.”
When he stepped back out into the hallway, Enzo met him with a darkened expression. "Boss. We ran her background check. It's clean—queens diner, sick mother, working double shifts. But..."
"Speak, Enzo."
Enzo swiped his tablet and handed it over. "Her birth name isn't Clara Evans. Her legal adoption papers were finalized twenty-one years ago. Her biological mother was Elena Moretti."
Dominic froze. The air left his lungs in a sharp draft.
Elena Moretti had been the secret sister of Victor Costa—the woman who fled the mob world twenty years ago with a chest full of Costa ledger evidence before being hunted down and killed. Victor had searched for Elena’s missing child for two decades to ensure those ledgers—which held enough evidence to dismantle the entire Costa syndicate—were never found.
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Clara wasn't just a brave bystander. She was the rightful heir to the Costa bloodline, and the living key to the total destruction of Dominic's greatest enemy.
And she had no idea.
