Night settled over the harbor like a silk veil, dark and heavy with secrets. The sea wind carried the scent of salt and gunpowder, and the old warehouse at the edge of the docks stood silent, as if waiting for blood to be spilled.
Inside, men from two rival families gathered.
The De Luca syndicate had arrived first. Their underboss stood at the center of the room, leaning lazily against a long wooden table. His black suit was perfectly tailored, yet worn carelessly, the top buttons of his shirt undone as though rules meant nothing to him. His expression carried the ease of a man who had never once feared death.
He was smiling.
The doors opened.
All conversations died.
She entered without haste, heels striking the concrete floor in a steady rhythm that echoed through the warehouse like a declaration of war. A crimson dress traced her figure with elegant precision, neither vulgar nor modest — only dangerous. Behind her followed armed guards, but it was clear to everyone present that she needed none.
The air shifted the moment she stepped inside.
So this was the woman who controlled the eastern territory.
So this was the rumored queen of a ruthless empire.
Her gaze was calm, cold, and perfectly sharp.
The underboss straightened slightly, studying her as though he had just discovered something fascinating. His eyes lingered longer than politeness allowed, traveling from her face to the confident set of her shoulders, then back again.
A slow smile curved on his lips.
"They sent their most beautiful weapon," he said softly. "I feel honored."
Her expression did not change.
"The De Luca family sends a man who talks too much."
A few of his men shifted uneasily, but he only chuckled, clearly entertained.
"Careful," he replied, stepping closer. "Compliments from enemies can be misunderstood."
She stopped a few steps away, perfectly poised.
"If this meeting is a waste of time, I will leave."
"Ah," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Straight to business. How heartless."
He circled her slowly, not touching, merely observing, like a wolf curious about another predator. The tension between the two families tightened, hands hovering near weapons.
"You're exactly as rumored," he murmured.
"Cold. Elegant. Deadly."
His gaze warmed with amusement.
"I like that."
Her patience thinned. In one smooth motion, she drew a gun and lifted it beneath his chin. The movement was swift enough to make several men reach for their own weapons.
Silence filled the warehouse.
He did not step back.
Instead, his smile deepened, as though this was the most interesting moment of his evening.
"If you plan to kill me," he said lightly, "at least allow me one last request."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You have none."
"Just one," he insisted, voice low and playful.
"A kiss before the bullet."
The audacity of the words hung in the air.
Several guards exchanged looks, unsure whether to be shocked or impressed. The woman holding the gun remained perfectly still, though a faint flicker of something unreadable crossed her eyes.
"You flirt with death too easily," she said.
"I flirt with everything that interests me," he replied.
For a long moment, neither moved. Then, with controlled precision, she lowered the weapon. Not in surrender, but in decision.
"Speak," she said. "We are here for business."
He seemed almost disappointed that the gun was gone.
"Of course," he answered smoothly. "But business can wait. Rivalry, on the other hand…" His gaze met hers again, dark and amused. "Rivalry can be quite enjoyable."
The two families began their negotiation, though few truly listened to the details. The true battle was not over territory or shipments. It unfolded in glances and quiet tension between two leaders who refused to yield.
When the meeting finally ended, she turned to leave without another word.
Behind her, his voice followed like a shadow.
"This won't be our last meeting."
She paused briefly at the doorway, not looking back.
"That depends," she replied calmly.
"On whether you survive the next one."
He laughed softly after she was gone, the sound echoing through the warehouse.
For the first time in years, the underboss of the De Luca family felt something unfamiliar.
Interest.
And in the world they ruled, interest was far more dangerous than hatred.