A writers block hit me but now the clouds are clear enough.. we will touch the epilogue soon 💃

The Salvatore Estate

The air was thick with fury. Don Genaro Salvatore sat at the head of the long oak table, his fingers drumming against its surface, his face dark with rage. Across from him, Vincent stood rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it would crack.

Sebastien chuckled, his voice laced with mockery. "I think Romanov women were born to betray you, brother."

Vincent's fingers twitched, the veins in his arms bulging.

"First Anna..." Sebastien leaned back lazily, a smirk on his face. "And now Evangelina—oh wait, that's not even her name, is it?" He tilted his head. "It's Haven."

Maverick laughed, shaking his head. "You have to admit, it's kind of poetic." He shot Vincent a look, his grin widening. "Your mentor, your idol, your inspiration —was actually our enemy Demon's wife."

Sebastien snorted. "And she played you like a damn puppet." He spread his arms. "All of us, really. But you? You were her favorite little pet."

Vincent's hands balled into fists, his breathing sharp.

Maverick let out a whistle,"Damn, looking back now, it's kind of embarrassing, isn't it?" he mused. "You worshiped her."

Sebastien smirked. "You even mimicked the way she talked, walked, fought. If she had told you to jump off a cliff, I think you'd have done it."

Vincent's glare was murderous.

Maverick grinned. "Relax, brother. We all got played."

Sebastien shook his head, laughing under his breath. "She really did a number on us. The great Vicious , trained to be unstoppable by the one woman who was only ever meant to destroy us."

"And she had succeeded. She had crumbled our empire for five long years. I wonder if haven entered your life with the same purpose brother." Maverick smirked.

"Enough Fuckers or I will slit your throat just like I had slit hers." Vincent hissed his knife now on Maverick's throat.

"STOP IT" A loud slam echoed through the room as Genaro Salvatore struck the table. The air growing even more suffocating.

"She's not the only one alive." His voice was dark rage wrapped in finality. He met Vincent's gaze, his smile deepening. "The Sinisters... they are also his blood. They are Romanovs"

The words hit the room like a bomb. Silence stretched thick and heavy.

Vincent's face paled as he withdrew his knife back from maverick's throat "That's not possible," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I burned that whole mansion to the ground. No one could have survived."

Salvatore's grin widened. "Oh, but they did." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "And now I understand why they're called the Sinisters." His fingers tapped the table rhythmically. "Because it's not just one man leading them... it's all five. Those bastards looked so familiar and now I know why... They looked like their bastard father instead"

Sebastien exhaled sharply, his amusement vanishing. Maverick's hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

Genaro rose, his presence suffocating the room. "Prepare our shooters. Ready the men." His voice was final. "We will attack."

Sebastien and Maverick nodded and moved swiftly.

Vincent, however, stood still. "That's impulsive," he said, his tone unreadable.

Salvatore arched a brow. "Attacking is the best defence right now, Vincent. If we don't, they will." His gaze darkened. "They need to die. All of them."

Vincent didn't respond immediately. Then, in a low, possessive voice, he said, "Leave Haven alone. She's my wife."

Salvatore regarded him carefully, then leaned back slightly. "But she carries Anna's blood." His lips curled slightly. "What are the chances she won't betray, just like her mother did?"

Vincent's expression was pure steel. "Haven may be Anna's blood," he said slowly, "but now she is my wife and I will make sure she is molded into exactly what I want her to be."

A slow nod from Salvatore. Approval. Vincent turned on his heel and walked out.

.
.
.

As Vincent walked away from his father's study room, his mind was already crafting his next move. The Sinisters had to die—there was no question about that. One by one, he would dismantle them, erase them from existence, take back what was his.

And then, Haven.

She had defied him. She had dared to leave, dared to stand against him. That would not be forgiven.

But he wouldn't kill her—no, she belonged to him, whether she accepted it or not.

Once she was back in his grasp, he would break her down, strip away every trace of rebellion, every foolish belief that she had a choice. She would learn that there was no escape from him, no life outside of his control.

He would shape her, mold her, make her his—until the only name she knew, the only will she obeyed, was his own.

And this time, she would never run again.

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.
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The Sinister Estate

Haven glanced around the dining table, her brows furrowing slightly. Something felt incomplete. She hesitated before asking, "Where are Luce and Rafe?"

Gabriel, who had been flicking a stray olive at Michael, stilled for a moment before shrugging. "Business trip. They had to leave last night."

Michael leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "They'll be back in a week."

A strange feeling settled in Haven's chest—one she didn't know how to name. She had only just started getting used to having them around, and now two of them were gone. It shouldn't have mattered so much, but it did.

"They didn't say bye," she murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.

Izrael, who had been watching her with that sharp, knowing gaze of his, finally spoke, his heart sighing in happiness, finally they were all making a place in her heart. "They came to say bye, but you were already asleep, sorelina." His voice was quiet but certain. "They will be back before you know it."

Haven exhaled softly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she settled between him and Michael. The room was warm, filled with an ease she still wasn't sure how to fully embrace. It had been days since she had accepted them as her brothers, yet the weight of it still pressed against her chest. It was new. Strange.

And yet... it wasn't unwelcome.

Gabriel smiled playfully. "You know, sorella, staring at food won't make it any better. You actually have to eat it."

She huffed, idly pushing her fork through the pasta. "I'm not that hungry. The medicine makes everything taste bitter."

Michael's brows furrowed slightly. "You barely ate at breakfast either. I know the aftereffects aren't great, but it's for your health, Angel."

Before she could respond, Gabriel dramatically gasped, slamming a hand over his chest. "Dio mio! If you keep this up, you might just disappear into thin air! You are already so tiny."

Haven rolled her eyes. "I'm not tiny."

"You're literally the smallest thing in this house, little one," Gabriel shot back, grinning.

Izrael, who had been silent for most of their exchange, finally spoke, his voice firm yet calm. "Gabe, stop teasing her. Haven, finish your lunch... I'll ask the chef to make apple pie for you."

Haven's eyes widened slightly. The excitement was immediate, unfiltered. "Really? I haven't had apple pie in so long..." The words tumbled out before she could stop them, but then—her voice cut off. Her fingers curled tightly around the fork, her body going stiff.

"Aerius never let me," she whispered. "He said I'd gain weight. That I'd be... an ugly, fat gi—"

Her own words choked her. A sharp breath. A quick bite to her lip. Her heartbeat pounded too loud in her ears. She shouldn't have said that. She shouldn't have—

Michael silently passed her a glass of water, his gaze unreadable. Haven took it and drank, trying to push back the sharp sting in her throat.

Across from her, Gabriel's playful demeanor had vanished. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening with barely restrained fury. "That bastard," he muttered under his breath, voice venomous. "He's giving me more reasons to get creative with how I torture him."

Michael set his fork down with a quiet clink. His voice was softer, steadier. "You can eat whatever you want here, sorelina. This is your home. And we are your family. No one will ever tell you otherwise."

Then, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. A quiet reassurance. A silent promise.

Haven nodded slowly, feeling something tight in her chest begin to unravel.

A few beats of silence passed before Michael, in an attempt to shift the tension, arched a brow at Izrael. "By the way, how did you know she likes apple pie?"

Izrael, ever composed, merely shrugged. "Mama used to crave it a lot when she was pregnant with Haven. It was just a guess."

Haven's head snapped up, eyes wide with something unreadable—longing, curiosity, an ache that had never truly faded.

"You—" Her voice faltered before she steadied herself. "Can you tell me more about her? About Dad?"

Izrael met her gaze, something softer flickering in his usually cold expression.

"Of course," he said. "But first—finish your lunch."

Haven let out a small sigh but didn't argue this time. She finally took a bite, the familiar taste settling in her mouth, grounding her.

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "There we go! Progress!"

Michael smirked. "You act like she just climbed a mountain."

Gabriel gasped dramatically. "Emotionally, she did."

Despite herself, Haven let out a small, genuine laugh. It still felt foreign—like something fragile, something stolen—but it wasn't forced.

Izrael watched her for a long moment before speaking again. "You should laugh more."

Haven turned to him, her lips curling into a small, hesitant smile.

Maybe I will. She thought smiling to herself.

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The itch was unbearable.

Haven clenched her fists, pressing them into the sheets to resist the urge to scratch at the wound on her neck. The bandage felt tight, the skin beneath it burning. She needed it changed.

Her eyes flicked to the clock. 2:30 AM.

She exhaled, pushing herself up. The nurse was nowhere to be found, and she refused to wake her brothers. They already were there with her never leaving her alone and always tending to her.

So she would handle it herself.

The halls were dark and silent as she moved with the first aid kit to find the nurse or may be any maid if awake, her bare feet making no sound against the cold floor. The shadows stretched long, flickering under the dim glow of the wall sconces.

She turned a corner—

And slammed into something solid.

A sharp inhale left her lips as she stumbled back, heart jolting. The scent of leather and steel filled her lungs, dark and suffocating.

Ares.

Even in the darkness, she could feel the weight of his stare, piercing and unreadable.

His voice came low, measured. "What are you doing here?"

Haven's jaw clenched. "None of your business."

Ares didn't react. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, his presence suffocating.

Then, after a beat, he said, "Sometimes, I think you're here to spy."

Her stomach twisted with fury. "And you make me think you're a stalker."

Silence.

The tension between them crackled, thick and unyielding.

She exhaled sharply. "Move. Your presence is annoying."

Ares didn't move.

Her lips parted, ready to spit another insult, but his gaze flickered downward.

She followed it.

The first-aid kit in her hands.

His eyes darkened slightly before shifting to her neck. She barely had time to react before he reached out, his fingers curling around her wrist just as she raised her hand to scratch at the wound.

She flinched. Too fast. Too sudden.

Ares didn't speak, didn't acknowledge the way her body tensed. He simply turned and pulled her with him, his grip firm but controlled.

"H-hey—"

He dragged her to the nearest couch and shoved her down. Before she could protest, he took the first-aid kit from her grasp, kneeling before her.

Haven glared at him. "I don't need—"

He peeled back the old bandage gently.

A sharp sting bloomed across her skin.

She winced but didn't pull away, watching as he worked in silence. His movements were practiced, almost indifferent. He applied antiseptic, pressed fresh gauze to the wound, and secured the bandage in place with calculated precision.

Her fingers curled into the cushions. "Do you always force your help on people, or is this just a special kind of arrogance?"

Nothing.

Haven scowled. "You're impossible."

Still, nothing.

The air between them stretched, heavy with the weight of her distaste and his indifference.

When he finally finished, Ares stood without a word.

Haven crossed her arms. "Stay away from me."

He turned to leave when she spoke again.

"I don't like you near me."

Ares took a slow step back toward her, his tall frane hovering over her. He leaned in, his breath brushing her skin, but Haven didn't flinch—she met his gaze, fierce and unyielding.

"Trust me, fiera, if it were up to me, I wouldn't be anywhere near you either." Saying that steps back and was about to turn back when -

(Fiera - someone who is feisty)

BANG.

A single gunshot shattered the silence.

A guard stormed inside, panting. "We're under atta—"

Crack.

A second shot rang out.

Haven's breath caught as the bullet tore through the man's skull, blood splattering across the floor. His body crumpled instantly.

She barely had time to react before Ares grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. His body was a solid wall of warmth and steel, his grip like iron.

"Run," he ordered. "Go to your room and lock it—"

She turned.

And froze.

Men lined the hallway, their weapons raised. Shadows moved in the dim light, faceless, masked intruders closing in.

Ares looked beside her.

And then, before she could blink, he moved—

An arm wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him, his body shielding hers completely as he took his gun out.

A slow clap echoed through the hall took their attention.

From the darkness, a figure emerged.

Vincent.

A rifle rested in his grip, blood smeared across his face like war paint. His lips curled into a smirk, amusement flashing in his eyes as he stepped over the guard's corpse.

"Hello, wifey."

Haven's heart stopped.

What do you think? How was the chapter 💃