Crimson Vows

Isabella Moretti's heart pounded so loudly she wondered if the entire city could hear it. The taxi's headlights cut through the late‑night mist as it rumbled from the highway onto the waterfront boulevard. Rain-slicked pavement reflected neon signs for clubs, casinos, and late‑night diners-each flicker a reminder of the dangerous world she had abandoned. Salty ocean air mixed with exhaust fumes and the distant wail of a siren. The city felt alive and predatory all at once, as if it had waited five years just for her return.

She dropped a crisp bill into the driver's hand, avoiding his gaze. The driver nodded once, then peeled away. Isabella stepped onto the curb, her boots clicking against the wet concrete. She pressed her black clutch-slim, unassuming-closer to her side. Within it lay everything she needed to reenter Marco Vitale's world: her burner phone, a small pistol, and the single playing card that had brought her back.

Five years ago, she had fled under the cover of darkness, her unborn child hidden beneath layers of clothing, her heart breaking with every mile. She thought running would keep them safe. But safety had proven to be an illusion. Tonight, that illusion shattered with the words scrawled across a blood‑red border: "Midnight-or bleed."

Memories of Marco-his cold blue eyes, the hard line of his jaw, the way he protected people he cared for-flickered through her mind. Fear and longing warred in her chest. She drew a steadying breath, reminding herself why she was here. Her son's life depended on it.

Pulling her phone from the clutch, she unlocked the encrypted contact list. Scrolling, she found Enzo-the only one she trusted to keep her secret. She tapped his name and held the phone to her ear.

"Enzo?" Her voice trembled on the first syllable.

"Isabella." His answer came after a heartbeat that echoed like an accusation. "I thought you were dead-or didn't exist anymore."

She squared her shoulders and let the rain bead on her hair. "I'm here. I need intel-now. It's urgent."

A low click. "Make it fast."

"Meet me at The Red Lantern. Ten minutes."

He hesitated, then agreed. Isabella pocketed the phone and turned toward the bar-a scarred, graffiti‑tagged building two blocks down. Before she reached it, a sleek black sedan slid parallel to her on the street. Dark windows. No tail lights. Her pulse hammered harder, but she kept walking. If it was one of Marco's scouts, she needed to show confidence.

The Red Lantern's neon sign sputtered above the entrance. A single red bulb flickered, casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalk. Isabella pushed through the door into a haze of cigarette smoke and whiskey. The scent of stale beer clung to every surface. A battered jukebox in the corner crooned a blues track that seemed to mourn her arrival.

Enzo sat in the back booth, hunched over a chipped table. His broad frame nearly filled the seat; his head bowed as if weighed down by too many secrets. When she approached, he looked up-dark eyes flashing with recognition, anger, and something softer she hadn't seen in years.

"You made it," he said, voice low enough to keep the entire bar from listening.

"I had to." She slid into the booth opposite him. "They have my son."

He leaned forward, scrutiny sharpening his features. "What happened?"

Isabella took a trembling breath and then pulled the playing card from her clutch, placing it on the table. The card's crimson border was stained with smudged fingerprints. In the center, scrawled in childish black ink, were the words: "Midnight. Or bleed."

Enzo's jaw tightened as he traced the edge of the card. "Giovanna Serrano's handwriting." He set the card aside, rubbing one knuckle against the wood. "She wants you-or Marco. I can't tell which she craves more."

"She wants leverage," Isabella said. "If Marco comes, they'll kill the boy in front of him." Her voice caught. She pressed her palms flat, fighting emotion. "If I come alone... I don't know what she'll do."