Episode 5 :- Beneath the Armor

Crimson Vows – Episode 5: Beneath the Armor

The screams had stopped long before Ariella entered the cellar.

But the blood hadn’t.

It still streaked across the concrete floor in wild, crimson arcs—too fresh, too warm. The walls echoed with silence thick enough to choke on, and the air reeked of copper, sweat, and burned flesh.

Ariella’s heels clicked against the floor, steady at first.

But they slowed.

Then stopped.

Luca stood in the middle of it all, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, knuckles raw, a bloodstained knife resting loosely in his palm.

His eyes lifted when he heard her. Calm. Unapologetic. Cold.

“You weren’t supposed to come down here,” he said.

She didn’t move. Her voice came out like broken glass.

“You killed them.”

He tilted his head. “They betrayed us.”

“They were barely more than boys,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Foot soldiers. You didn’t even question them—just—slaughtered them like animals.”

“They made a choice.”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer now, fury overtaking fear. “They followed orders. They were scared. They were loyal. And now they’re dead because you wanted to make a point.”

Luca’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“You could’ve warned me,” she continued. “You could’ve spared me seeing this.”

“You’ve seen worse.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to see it from you.”

That silenced him.

---

Her chest rose and fell sharply as she stared at the bodies. One was no older than seventeen. She remembered his name—Marco. He used to sneak cigarettes in the garden when he thought no one noticed. He used to call her Signorina with a shy smile.

He had a sister.

Now he was a corpse in a pool of blood.

Her voice cracked when she spoke again. “Do you feel anything, Luca?”

He didn’t answer.

She shook her head. “Of course not.”

And then—finally—her knees buckled.

She sank to the floor beside the wall, fists clenched, breath shuddering out of her lungs in heavy, ragged sobs.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. “I’m turning into something I don’t recognize.”

Luca stood frozen for a moment. A second. Two.

Then the knife clattered to the ground.

He walked toward her slowly, his footsteps suddenly unsure. Like he didn’t quite know how to handle this version of her—the one without armor. The one that hurt.

He crouched down, hands hovering just above hers.

“I didn’t want you to see this part of me,” he said quietly.

She laughed bitterly through her tears. “What part? The executioner? The butcher? The man who kisses me at night and kills boys by dawn?”

His voice was hoarse. “The part that stopped pretending I was human years ago.”

Ariella looked up, eyes red and wet.

“You don’t have to be this,” she said. “Not with me.”

He stared at her. And for the first time in a long, long time… he looked tired.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he said.

Her hands trembled as she reached for his. He didn’t flinch.

“I do,” she whispered. “Let me remind you.”

Luca’s fingers slowly curled around hers.

---

They stayed like that for minutes—maybe hours.

Later, when the bodies were gone and the floor scrubbed clean, Luca brought her tea instead of wine. He didn’t drink it himself. Just sat with her on the velvet couch in the den, their legs touching, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

He didn’t touch her like a king.

He held her like a man who didn’t want her to leave.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever cared about more than control,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Her hand found his again.

And for the first time, he didn’t pull away.

---

That night, she woke from a nightmare—sweat clinging to her skin, her breath ragged, the scent of blood still clinging to her memory.

But Luca was there.

Sitting at the edge of the bed.

Watching her.