Episode 4 :- the taste of power

Crimson Vows – Episode 4: The Taste of Power

Blood still clung beneath Ariella’s fingernails when she stepped into the shower that night.

Hot water beat down on her skin, but it couldn’t wash away the memory. The echo of the gunshot haunted her ears. Nikolai’s eyes—wide, pleading—wouldn’t leave her mind.

She had pulled the trigger.

And Luca had kissed her like it was a vow.

She tilted her head back, letting the water scald her throat. She didn’t cry. Couldn’t. That part of her had gone silent years ago—maybe the same night she learned how to slip a blade between a man’s ribs and smile.

But this was different.

This wasn’t Bratva business.

This was him.

---

Luca watched her from the balcony of the master suite, glass of whiskey in hand, eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t feel guilt. Not the way she did. But something inside him shifted when he heard the gunshot hours earlier. Not because she killed the man. But because she’d done it for him.

Luca Moretti didn’t believe in love.

But obsession?

He was fluent in that language.

And Ariella Voss was becoming his favorite verse.

She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, eyes meeting his. Neither of them said a word. She walked past him, grabbed one of his shirts, and pulled it over her bare skin.

“You ever kill someone close to you?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Luca didn’t answer immediately. He turned, walked back inside, and set the glass down.

“Yes.”

She looked up.

“My brother,” he said. “He tried to sell me to the Albanians when I was sixteen. I beat him with the same chain he used to lock me up.”

Her breath caught.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” he said. “You kill with guilt. I kill with memory.”

Ariella swallowed. “Then what am I to you, Luca?”

He walked over, took her face in his hand.

“Mine.”

---

The next day, Luca took her deeper into his world.

They rode through Naples in his black Maserati, windows tinted, guarded by four cars in formation. Civilians stared. They always did. Some crossed themselves. Others turned away.

Ariella sat beside him, calm. Regal. Deadly.

She belonged in his world far too easily.

They arrived at the Moretti estate’s underground chambers—a labyrinth of meetings, weapons, ledgers, and blood-stained loyalty.

Ariella had never been invited here.

Until now.

Men stepped aside as Luca walked in. Soldiers nodded. Capos whispered.

He didn’t just command fear. He owned it.

“This is the table,” Luca said as they entered the war room, where seven chairs circled a black stone slab. “And tonight, you sit at it.”

Ariella blinked. “What?”

“You passed the test. Now you lead beside me.”

She stared at him. “You’re giving me power?”

“I’m giving you a seat,” he said. “What you do with it is on you.”

One of the older capos—Gino, bald and suspicious—scowled from the side. “She’s Bratva. You think she won’t slit your throat when you sleep?”

Luca didn’t look away from her. “She had the chance.”

“And she didn’t take it,” Ariella said, turning to Gino. “Because your boss is the only man who ever made me hesitate.”

The room fell silent.

Then someone chuckled. Another nodded.

It was enough.

Luca leaned close to her ear. “They’ll try to test you now. Watch your back.”

“I always do.”

---

That night, as the dinner turned to strategy and war planning, Ariella watched power shift like shadows on the wall.

This wasn’t a family. It was a kingdom of wolves. And Luca—their king—had placed a crown of fire on her head.

But power came with enemies.

As the men left the table, Gino brushed past her.

“You look good in his shirts, girl,” he said with a sneer. “But I wonder how long you’ll last without them.”

She smiled sweetly. “Longer than your lungs, if you keep breathing near me.”

Gino laughed darkly and walked off.

Luca appeared behind her, hands on her waist. “He’ll push. They all will.”

“Let them,” she said. “I’m not here to play dress-up, Luca. I’m here to survive.”

“You already did that,” he whispered. “Now you conquer.”

---

Later that night, Ariella stood by the balcony, looking out over the city lights.

Luca came up behind her, hands circling her waist. “You were made for this.”

She shook her head. “No. I was made for revenge. This is just... the aftertaste.”

He turned her to face him. “Then let it be a sweet one.”

And he kissed her—slow, deep, unapologetically possessive.

She kissed him back like a storm ready to break.

Their enemies were sharpening blades in the dark.

The Bratva was closing in.

The Moretti empire was a lit match in a field of gasoline.

But tonight?

They didn’t care.

Tonight was theirs.

To be continued...

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