Chapter 2 - The Binding Oath
The world began to blur at the edges, the bright chandeliers of Aurelios dissolving into smears of golden light. Blood leaked steadily down my spine, soaking my thin cotton server's shirt. Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear the sharp, commanding tones of Dante Moretti issuing orders in swift, flawless Italian.
"Call Dr. Vance. Have the car at the back entrance now," Dante snapped. His voice didn't betray panic; it carried an absolute, terrifying authority that made every staff member in the room freeze.
I tried to push myself up, my hands slipping slightly on the wet marble. "I... I can go home. I just need a bandage..."
Dante’s hand came down on my uninjured shoulder, his touch firm yet impossibly gentle compared to the rest of his demeanor. "You are not going home, piccola. You bled for my son. That makes your life my responsibility."
"I don't belong to anyone," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling as the shock began to set in.
"You do now," he replied, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned hotter than the glass in my back. "Not as a servant. As a debt that cannot be repaid in coin."
Before I could protest, Dante scooped me into his arms. I gasped as the movement pulled at the wounds, but he shifted me expertly, cradling my weight against his chest so nothing touched my back. He carried me past the staring patrons, past Marcus who stood frozen in horror, and out into the cool rainy night where a black armoured SUV waited with its doors wide open.
Matteo scrambled in first, clutching his toy car, his tear-streaked face watching me attentively. Dante slid inside, keeping me carefully positioned across his lap while his bodyguards slammed the doors shut. The SUV tore away from the curb, leaving my old, quiet, invisible life behind in a cloud of exhaust and shattered glass.
We arrived at a massive estate sprawling over the hills—a fortress surrounded by high wrought-iron gates and heavy security. I was brought into a private medical wing within the mansion. Dr. Vance, a quiet man with steady hands, spent the next hour meticulously removing every shard of crystal from my flesh. Dante never left the room. He stood near the window, his dark eyes watching every flinch I made, every breath I took.
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When the doctor finished stitching the wounds, he gave me a strong sedative. As my eyelids grew heavy, Dante stepped up to the side of the bed. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing a strand of hair away from my pale cheek.
"Sleep, Clara," he murmured, using my name for the first time. "Tomorrow, your old life is dead. No one will ever hurt you again."
