The next morning, Amara stood on the rooftop balcony of Villa Moretti, the early sun casting golden light across the city she was born to rule. Below, her estate buzzed with movement guards training, deliveries arriving, meetings scheduled. But up here, it was quiet.
She replayed last night in her mind.
Luca's voice. His smile. That look in his eyes said he knew something she didn't.
"Are you here to kill me... or kiss me?"
The man was infuriating. Confident. Dangerous. And worst of all, it is intoxicating.
But Amara didn't have time to be distracted. She had a legacy to protect.
"Donna Amara," said Enzo behind her. "We have visitors."
"Who?"
"The Russians."
Her eyes narrowed.
The Russian Bratva controlled arms along the eastern coast. Her father had an uneasy truce with them but that truce had been weakening since his death.
"Bring them in. No weapons."
Moments later, three men stepped into her office, led by Mikhail Sokolov, a towering man with cold eyes and a snake's grin.
"My condolences," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "The old lion sleeps. But tell me, little lioness... do you roar?"
Amara didn't blink. "Only when provoked."
They discussed shipments, territory, and alliances. Mikhail tested her. Tried to corner her. But Amara held her ground with every word.
"You're not your father," he said at one point.
"No," she replied. "I'm worse."
When they finally left, Enzo exhaled. "He'll report back to Moscow."
"Good," she said. "Let them know Naples is not for sale."
Her enemies were watching. But so were her allies.
It was time to show both what kind of queen she truly was.