d the polished wood desk where Luciano Romano sat - the king of this empire of blood. He didn't move when she entered. He just watched her, his face unreadable, the blade of his gaze

dark whiskey, and handed one to her. "Tomorrow night," he said, "there will be a gathering. A welcome... celebration." Valeria took the glass but didn't drink. A celebration among killers. What could be safer? Still, she nodded. Luciano's lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his cold eyes. "Don't worry," he said. "If they try to eat you alive..." He paused, savoring the tension in the air. "I'll make sure you bite back." ⸻ The Party The villa's gardens blazed with light and laughter. Music thumped in the warm night air, heavy with the scent of blood-red roses and gun oil. Valeria moved carefully through the crowd, feeling the eyes on her. Men in expensive suits, women in silk and diamonds, killers dressed like kings. She didn't belong. Not yet. But she would. She wore a simple black dress - tight, deadly - and her hair curled over one shoulder like a snake. Beautiful. Dangerous. Untouchable. At the far end of the garden, under a canopy of black and gold banners, Luciano stood like a dark god surrounded by wolves. His eyes found her almost immediately. A flick of a glance across the crowd. A silent command. Before she could think, he was striding toward her. The crowd parted instinctively as he approached, as if sensing something too powerful to stop. He extended his hand - open, waiting. "Dance with me," he said. It wasn't a question. Valeria hesitated for the barest second. Then she placed her hand in his. The music shifted - a slow, heavy rhythm that made the world around them dissolve. Luciano led her onto the stone courtyard where no one else dared to dance. Only them. The king and the girl who wasn't afraid to spit in the face of death.