Aria's POV
The Blood Chapel is underground.
Of course it is. Because everything about this family screams horror movie.
Stone steps lead down into darkness. Mom clutches my hand as we descend, her palm slick with sweat. Vincent walks ahead with Isabella, their footsteps echoing off walls that feel like they're closing in.
Dante follows behind us. I feel his eyes on my back like a physical touch.
This is insane, I whisper to Mom. We should leave. Right now.
We can't. Her voice trembles. Just... please, Aria. Listen to what Vincent has to say. Keep an open mind.
He has a Blood Chapel under his house. What kind of open mind
We reach the bottom, and my words die.
The chapel is circular, carved from stone, lit by hundreds of candles that cast dancing shadows on the walls. But it's not the candles that steal my breath.
It's the names.
Carved into every inch of the walls. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Names and dates etched into stone like tombstones.
Alessandro Castellano & Sofia Romano - 1944
Giuseppe Castellano & Francesca DeLuca - 1967
Antonio Castellano & Marie Stevens - 1983
David Castellano & Christina Morrison - 2001
Pairs of names. Always two. Always together.
What is this? I breathe.
Our memorial wall, Vincent says from the center of the room. A reminder of what happens when family laws are broken.
More people file in. A younger man who looks like a kinder version of Dante—must be the brother, Luca. Another guy, mid-twenties, with slicked-back hair and a smile that makes my skin crawl. He looks at me like I'm something he wants to own.
Marco, Dante's voice cuts through the room like a knife. Eyes to yourself.
Marco's smile widens. Just admiring our new family member, cousin.
The tension between them is thick enough to choke on.
Everyone's here, Isabella announces, taking her place beside Vincent. Shall we begin?
Vincent nods. When he speaks, his voice echoes off the stone walls. Elena. Aria. Welcome to the Castellano family. What you're about to hear is not negotiable. It's not a suggestion. It's survival.
Mom's grip on my hand tightens.
For eighty years, this family has followed one absolute law, Vincent continues. The Blood Oath. It protects us. Keeps us strong. Keeps us alive.
What oath? I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
Vincent's eyes lock on mine. Cold. Absolute. No romantic relationships between step-relatives. Ever. The penalty for violation is death. For both parties.
The world tilts.
I'm sorry, what? I almost laugh. It's so absurd. So medieval. You can't be serious.
I've never been more serious. Vincent gestures to the wall of names. Every name you see here? Step-siblings who fell in love. Step-parents and step-children who crossed the line. Cousins by marriage who forgot their place.
And you killed them? Horror rises in my throat.
The oath killed them, Isabella corrects smoothly. We simply carried out the law.
That's murder!
That's protection, Vincent snaps, and for the first time, I see the monster underneath the expensive suit. This family has enemies. Rivals who would use any weakness to destroy us. Romance between step-relatives creates complications. Divided loyalties. Chaos.
So you just... execute people? My voice cracks. Your own family?
To protect the rest, yes. Vincent moves closer, towering over me. The Blood Oath has kept this family strong for eighty years. It's kept us unified. Powerful. And it will continue long after I'm dead.
I look at the names again. The most recent—David and Christina—died in 2001. Twenty-five years ago.
How did they die? I whisper.
Silence.
Then Luca, the younger brother, speaks quietly. They were found in a locked room. Throats cut. No weapon. No way in or out.
Ice water floods my veins. That's impossible.
The oath isn't just our law, Isabella says, her voice almost gleeful. It's protected by something older. Something that doesn't forgive.
She means the curse, Marco adds, smirking. The ghost of Katerina Castellano. Our family matriarch who created the Blood Oath before she died. She really doesn't like rule breakers.
They're insane. All of them.
I turn to Mom, desperate for her to see the madness. You can't possibly believe this.
But Mom won't meet my eyes. She knew. She knew about this before we came here.
Betrayal tastes like copper in my mouth.
Do you understand? Vincent asks, his voice deadly calm. Romance between you and any of my sons or nephews is forbidden. Completely. The penalty is execution for both of you. I will personally carry it out.
You can't legally
We don't operate on legal, Vincent interrupts. We operate on survival. Cross this line, and you die. No exceptions. No mercy.
Across the chapel, Dante stands perfectly still. But his eyes are on me, burning with an intensity that makes my heart race.
He's been watching me for three years. Protecting me. Falling for me.
And now his father is threatening to kill us both if we so much as look at each other wrong.
Aria, Vincent's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. Do you understand the oath?
Everyone's watching. Waiting.
I force the word out. Yes.
Good. Vincent turns to address the whole room. Let this be clear to all. The Blood Oath is absolute. Violate it, and you both die. There are no exceptions. Not for my sons. Not for my wife's daughter. Not for anyone.
He claps his hands once, sharp and final. You're dismissed.
People file out. Mom tries to take my arm, but I pull away, needing air, needing space, needing to think.
I'm halfway up the stairs when Dante catches my wrist.
Wait.
I spin on him, furious and terrified. Let go of me.
I need to tell you something. His black eyes are desperate now. Before you go to your room. Before you're alone.
I don't want to hear it.
You saved my life three years ago. That creates a debt in my world. A life debt. And I've been protecting you ever since
I don't care! I yank my arm free. Your father just threatened to murder me if I even look at you. So whatever debt you think you owe, consider it paid. Stay away from me, Dante. I mean it.
I run up the stairs, my heart pounding, and don't look back.
My room feels like a tomb.
I lock the door, check the windows, and sink onto the bed, shaking.
This is a nightmare. It has to be.
Tomorrow I'll call the police. Or a lawyer. Or someone who can get me out of this insane asylum.
But even as I think it, I know it's useless. The Castellanos have money. Power. Guards with guns.
I'm trapped.
I should sleep. Should rest. Should prepare for whatever hell tomorrow brings.
Instead, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about Dante's desperate eyes or Vincent's cold threats or the names carved in stone.
At 2 AM, I finally start to drift off.
Then I feel it.
A weight on my pillow. Right next to my head.
My eyes snap open.
There, inches from my face, placed carefully on the silk pillowcase, is a single black rose.
My door is locked. The windows are sealed.
But someone was in my room while I slept.
Someone who wanted me to know they could reach me anytime.
Anywhere.
My scream catches in my throat as I grab the rose, thorns biting into my palm.
And that's when I see it—tucked between the petals.
A small card with two words written in elegant script:
Welcome home.