Title: Crimson Vows

The night was cold, but inside La Rossa, the air burned with tension. Smoke coiled lazily from crystal ashtrays, the jazz band’s soft melody drowned by whispered deals and clinking glasses. In the corner booth, with red velvet seats and shadows masking his expression, sat Luca Moretti—Don of the most feared crime syndicate in New York.

And across from him, with her red lips curved in a dare and a silk slit dress that shimmered with every breath, was Ariella Voss—the daughter of the Russian mafia’s second-in-command. Sent to spy. But playing a far more dangerous game.

“I’m not scared of you,” she murmured, stirring her drink slowly, not meeting his eyes.

Luca leaned in, elbows on the table, voice low and lethal. “You should be.”

His gaze dropped briefly to the scar that peeked out from her shoulder—faint, old, but real. He had seen that scar in a photo once, years ago. When she was just the girl behind enemy lines. She didn’t know he recognized her yet. But he had waited too long to make this move.

“You're not just here for a drink,” he said. “You’re here to play with fire.”

Her lashes flicked up. “What if I like fire?”

Luca’s jaw clenched. His father had warned him about women like her—pretty lies wrapped in red silk and ruin. But Luca was no boy anymore. He knew how to burn and survive it.

“Then let’s burn together, bella bugiarda,” he whispered.

Ariella’s breath caught—just for a moment. Then she smiled. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Before he could answer, one of Luca’s men entered through the side, whispering urgently in his ear. Luca’s demeanor changed—cold, sharp, calculated.

“Excuse me,” he said to her, standing up. “Don’t leave.”

Ariella waited five minutes. Then ten. Her fingers itched for the gun strapped to her thigh. She hadn’t come just to flirt. Her father wanted Luca dead by sunrise. She was just the distraction.

She should have walked out. But something in the way he looked at her… something in the way her name sounded in his mouth… it made her hesitate.

She stood up and slipped through the back hallway. The club’s interior was a maze, but she found his private office door ajar, voices coming from inside.

“…she’s not who she says she is. We found proof. She’s Viktor Voss’ daughter. Sent here last year under a new name. Changed everything but her eyes.”

Silence.

Then Luca’s voice: “I know.”

A pause.

“You what?”

“I knew the moment I saw her. I’ve known for weeks.”

“Then why the hell—”

“Because I wanted her to lie to me,” Luca growled. “I wanted to see how far she’d go. And I wanted to know if I could make her choose me over them.”

Ariella’s heart thudded so loud, she was sure they’d hear it.

She backed away—but her heel caught on the rug, and the soft sound made Luca whip open the door.

For one moment, neither of them moved.

“Listening in now?” he asked.

“I should kill you,” she hissed, hand flying to her thigh.

“You could try.”

She pulled the gun. He didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, letting the door fall shut behind him. The tension between them snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin.

“You lied,” he said, voice soft, dangerous. “But I don’t care.”

He took another step.

“You think seduction is enough to kill me? You think I didn’t see through your plan?”

She aimed the gun at his chest.

“I’ll do it.”

“Then do it,” he said, pressing closer until the barrel met his chest. “Shoot me. But you and I both know you don’t want to.”

Her hand trembled.

Luca reached up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to his. His touch was rough, possessive, but not cruel. His lips brushed hers—lightly, just once.

“You feel it too,” he whispered.

She dropped the gun.

His mouth crashed into hers.

There was no gentleness now. Just fire and hunger and everything that had been building since the night they met. She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as his hands gripped her hips, lifting her onto the desk.

“You’re trouble,” she gasped against his lips.

“So are you.”

He unzipped her dress slowly, savoring the sound. “This changes everything, Ariella.”

“Then let it,” she whispered. “Let it all burn.”

And as their bodies tangled in shadows and secrets, the war outside paused—for just one night.

Crimson Vows – Episode 2: Aftertaste of Fire

The morning after tasted like smoke and regret.

Ariella stood by the tall window of Luca’s penthouse, draped only in his black dress shirt, the silk sliding past her thighs as she sipped espresso she didn’t even like. Her lipstick from last night was gone. So was any illusion of innocence.

The city below buzzed with early chaos, but in here—it was still. Heavy. Like the pause before a gunshot.

Behind her, Luca’s voice cut through the quiet. Low. Rough.

“You left the bed cold.”

She didn’t turn. “I didn’t come here to sleep.”

“No,” he said, slipping on a watch, eyes sharp, voice unreadable. “You came to kill me.”

Silence stretched between them, cruel and intimate.

“I should kill you for what you did,” he continued. “But I didn’t. That should tell you something.”

Ariella finally turned, the cup still in her hand. “You think one night erases bloodlines?”

“No. But it complicates things.”

Their eyes locked. His jaw ticked. Her nails dug into the porcelain.

“You knew who I was before you kissed me,” she said flatly.

“I kissed you because I knew who you were.”

His honesty was a blade. Clean. Deep.

Ariella had danced with death before, but never like this. Never while wanting it to press so close.

“You don’t trust me,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“I don’t even trust myself when it comes to you.”

He crossed the space between them in two strides, his fingers brushing her jaw. “Tell me, volchitsa. Were you ever going to pull the trigger?”

She stared at him, something dangerous stirring in her. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not anymore.

“Good,” he said, brushing a kiss to her neck before turning away. “Because if you had, I would’ve taken you down with me.”

His words left a scorch in her skin long after he was gone.

---

Later that day, Ariella met with Dominik, her Bratva handler, in the back room of an abandoned cathedral. It smelled of dust, wine, and old sins.

“You were with him all night,” Dominik snapped. “Why is he still alive?”

Ariella didn’t flinch. “He’s not stupid. He didn’t drink. Didn't drop his guard.”

Dominik narrowed his eyes. “You’re slipping, Ari. Don’t forget why you were sent. Luca Moretti is not a man to seduce. He’s a man to end.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said tightly.

He stepped closer. “Then act like it. We strike in seven days. Either you open the gates from the inside… or you become expendable.”

The word expendable hung like a noose.

---

That night, Ariella returned to Luca’s club, La Rossa, as if nothing had changed. Her red dress clung to every curve. Eyes followed her. But it was only his that mattered.

He was behind the bar tonight, sleeves rolled up, pouring whiskey for someone who clearly didn’t deserve it. When he saw her, he stopped. Didn’t smile. Just watched.

She walked up, slid onto the barstool.

“Whiskey,” she said, voice like velvet.

He poured. No words. Just a quiet, unreadable look.

“You always this cold the day after?” she asked.

Luca met her gaze. “I don’t do mornings after. You’re an exception.”

She leaned in. “So what now?”

“I don’t know, Ariella,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with me?”

She bit her lip. Then answered honestly. “Losing control.”

His hand stilled. “Good. That makes two of us.”

---

Outside, thunder rolled.

Inside, they danced again—this time in words, in glances, in silence. They didn’t touch. But the space between them sizzled with what they didn’t say.

Luca knew she wasn’t done lying.

Ariella knew he wasn’t done testing her.

But something darker, deeper, pulled them closer every second.

---

At midnight, Luca stepped out for a call. Ariella slipped into his office. Her mission was clear: disable the security panel behind his bookshelf. Easy. Quick.

But when she opened the drawer for tools, she found something else.

A photo.

Of her.

Younger. Hiding behind her father’s coat. Blood on her hands. Fear in her eyes.

Luca had kept it.

Her breath caught.

He’d known her long before last week. Maybe long before she ever knew him.

Her fingers trembled.

Just then, the door creaked open.

“Ariella.”

Luca’s voice was calm.

Too calm.

She turned slowly.

He stood there, framed in the doorway. Dark suit. Storm in his eyes.

“You broke into my past,” he said softly. “Now I have to decide what to do with yours.”

And suddenly, she knew—

They weren’t playing with fire anymore.

They were the fire.

To be continued...

Crimson Vows – Episode 3: The Devil’s Dinner Table

The table was set for war.

Candlelight flickered across white bone china, the crystal glasses sparkling like sins waiting to spill. The grand dining room in the Moretti estate was quiet—too quiet, save for the ticking of the vintage clock and the quiet hum of jazz in the background.

Ariella sat at the far end, spine straight, red lipstick perfect, wearing a black velvet dress that hugged her like a secret. Across from her, Luca Moretti leaned back in his chair, tie loose, eyes dark with suspicion and something more dangerous—desire he hadn’t decided to trust yet.

Between them sat plates of untouched osso buco and carefully poured red wine.

“How did you get that photo?” Ariella asked finally, voice even, but her hands were curled into fists in her lap.

Luca swirled his wine. “That’s the question you choose to ask, after breaking into my private office?”

She didn’t blink. “It was taken in Moscow. I was seven.”

“I know,” he said. “You had blood on your shoes.”

Ariella’s breath caught. She remembered that night. The smell of gunpowder. Her mother screaming. Her father’s men dragging her to safety while the house burned.

“You were watching me even then?” she asked, her voice low.

“I was there.”

Silence dropped like a knife between them.

“You killed him,” she said slowly. “My uncle.”

Luca didn’t deny it.

“He was carving a Bratva empire in my city. I don’t like thieves.”

Her grip on the glass tightened. “You burned our safehouse.”

“He made the mistake of hiding behind children,” Luca said. “That doesn’t make him innocent.”

Ariella looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t get to talk about innocence. You lost yours long before I ever met you.”

“No,” Luca said softly. “I never had it.”

---

The tension between them built like a fuse. And still—they ate together.

As if sharing a table meant they weren’t already at war.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said after a while. “Why keep that photo? Why keep me close if you knew who I was?”

He looked at her, gaze unreadable. “Because you were a ghost I couldn’t kill. And now you’re a woman I can’t let go.”

Ariella’s breath stilled.

“I brought you here,” he said, rising from the table, “because I want to show you something.”

He held out his hand. She hesitated—then took it.

---

He led her down the marble hallway, past armed guards who didn’t make eye contact, and into a small room at the back of the estate. It was dimly lit, sterile. A single glass panel on the far wall revealed a concrete cell on the other side.

Inside the cell sat a man—bloodied, tied to a chair, barely conscious.

Ariella’s stomach turned. “Who is he?”

“A traitor,” Luca said. “One of yours.”

She looked at him sharply.

“He planted a bug in my club,” Luca continued. “Fed intel to the Bratva. When I traced the wire, I found it led to your network.”

She tried to keep her expression calm. “So you think I’m working with him?”

“I think,” Luca said, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, “that you’re walking a very thin line between my bed and my grave. I haven’t decided which one you belong in.”

Her heart pounded.

“I didn’t plant the bug,” she said quietly.

“But you knew about it,” he replied.

He was right.

She had.

---

He turned away, pressing a code into the wall panel. The lights in the cell flickered on, revealing just how badly the man inside had been beaten. Ariella’s stomach flipped. She knew him. His name was Nikolai—a foot soldier in her father’s network. He wasn’t meant to be caught.

“I’m giving you a choice,” Luca said. “End him. Prove where you stand.”

Her blood ran cold.

“You want me to kill him?”

“No. I need you to. Or I’ll know exactly which side you’re still on.”

Ariella stared at the glass. At the broken man who once served her father. A man who’d protected her as a child.

This was the test.

Her heart screamed no.

But her mission whispered yes.

She turned to Luca. “Give me the gun.”

His gaze didn’t change, but she saw the flash of something behind it—admiration? Relief? Madness?

He handed her a small pistol.

No safety. One shot.

She walked into the cell.

Nikolai’s eyes widened. “Ariella—!”

She didn’t flinch.

She raised the gun.

Her hands shook.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and pulled the trigger.

---

The shot echoed through the room, ringing louder than any scream.

When she stepped back into the hallway, the blood hadn’t dried on her hands. Luca didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He reached out and brushed a kiss against her forehead.

“A good soldier,” he murmured, “always chooses loyalty.”

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t breathe.

She had crossed the line now. There was no going back.

Not to Dominik.

Not to her father’s memory.

Not to who she used to be.

Ariella Voss had just killed the last piece of herself.

For him.

And Luca Moretti—he didn’t smile.

He simply said, “Welcome home.”

To be continued…