Page 34 of Vow to Claim You

Ayanna

The house has gone quiet. Not peaceful quiet. The other kind, the suffocating kind, like the walls are holding their breath, afraid one wrong exhale might shatter something.

I try to sleep but fail spectacularly. Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands folded tightly in my lap, my body too tense to relax despite the ache creeping up my shoulders. The room feels too big. Too dark. Too much empty space for my thoughts to rattle around in. And they won’t stop. That’s the problem. They just keep circling—Luca’s face, the sound of the shot, and the way Aric’s body moved in front of mine without hesitation.

Luca was my first love.

Aric was shot because of me.

The memory makes my stomach twist.

I lean forward, resting my forehead against my clasped hands. I shouldn’t worry about Luca. I shouldn’t worry about Aric. But I do. And there is no rule strong enough to stop it.

A door clicks open somewhere down the corridor, and my head lifts before I can stop it.

I don’t think. If I think, I’ll talk myself out of it. So I’m on my feet before I’ve consciously decided to move.

The hallway is dim this time of night. I stop outside his door. My hand hovers for half a second before I finally knock.

“Come in.” His voice reaches me through the wood, grounding me before I even see him.

I open the door, and the sight stops me where I stand.

Aric is near the window, back half turned, and he hasn’t bothered with a shirt.

My brain stutters for a moment before I register the rest; the ink. There’s a whole story written across his skin. One I’ve never seen.

A full sleeve covers his left arm. Black and gray, skulls and faces tangled together, Gothic and unapologetic, bleeding into a woman’s face beside it. Her features are half hidden behind an ornate mask, beautiful in a haunting, almost ghostly way. It spills over his shoulder and across his chest—a skull at the center, wings spreading wide across his collarbones, and script inked above it, words I can’t read from here.

My gaze rises to the runic tattoo just below his ear, a thin line of small symbols running down his neck. The only visible ink when he’s fully dressed. Clean and minimal, and nothing like the rest. Control over chaos. Even his skin tells you exactly who he is, if you’re paying attention.

Then I meet his eyes. His stoic eyes, watching, waiting. It’s unbearable how still he can be. How composed. Like nothing that happened today left a mark. At least not one he’s willing to show.

“Is Luca…” My voice comes out quieter than I want. I swallow and try again. “Is he⁠—”

“Still alive.” The words land flat and controlled, as always.

Relief loosens something in my chest—just a fraction—until he adds, without a shred of inflection, “He still has to answer for what he did.”

My fingers curl into the fabric of my robe. “You’re going to kill him.” I barely get the words out. My whole body feels cold.

“It’s one of the options.”

Relief evaporates as quickly as it came. Because it’s like he turns murder into a strategic option on a list. And it’s chilling how matter-of-fact he is.

“He talked,” Aric continues. “Admitted he wasn’t acting alone.”

My brows knit together. “He had help?”

“Yes.”

“From who?”

“Domenico Conti.” The name means nothing to me—until he adds, “Chiara’s brother.”

For a heartbeat, I can only stare. “Chiara. As in… your ex.”

He inclines his head. A thousand questions crash into each other at once.