QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD

The halls of Elena Bianchi's villa were a cruel blend of opulence and threat—marble floors slick with blood from earlier skirmishes, portraits of long-dead nobles staring down with smug apathy, and crystal chandeliers swaying gently overhead from the concussion of grenades.

Valentina strode forward, her blade still dripping. Her silk blouse clung to her ribs where blood—hers or someone else's—had soaked through. Behind her, Bryan kept pace, his jaw clenched, knuckles raw.

"I know these corridors," he murmured. "She's trying to trap us."

"She already has," Valentina said, scanning the gilded archways. "The question is, who's the one without a way out?"

They reached the grand salon. Velvet curtains shrouded the tall windows. A single glass of wine stood on the table.

And Matteo.

Tied to a baroque chair, barely conscious, blood matting his curls, one eye swollen shut.

"Don't move," came Elena's voice, cold and sharp as steel drawn in moonlight.

She descended the marble staircase in a white silk dress, her hair pinned like a crown, lips curving in delight at the carnage.

"Valentina," she cooed. "Still dressing like vengeance itself. I almost missed you."

"Elena," Valentina replied, cocking her pistol. "Still killing boys because real wars bore you."

"Oh, darling. War never bored me. It's the winners I find predictable."

Her gaze flicked to Bryan. "Hello, lover."

Bryan didn't move. "That part of me is dead. You killed it."

Elena's eyes flashed. "Don't lie. Not to me."

She circled him like a lioness, slow, admiring. "You smell like her now. You wear her war paint. But I know you, Bryan. I knew you when your hands shook after your first kill. When you still had hope in your eyes."

He looked past her—to Matteo, whose breathing was labored.

"Let him go," Bryan said.

Elena only smiled and snapped her fingers. One of her guards raised a knife and pressed it to Matteo's throat.

"No," Valentina growled.

Bryan stepped forward, and in a flash—bang—Elena fired.

Not at Bryan.

At her own guard.

The man crumpled, lifeless. The knife clattered to the floor.

"I'm not a monster," Elena said softly. "I just wanted you to come. To see. To remember."

Valentina holstered her pistol, stepping forward.

"You remember me too, don't you?" she said.

Elena tilted her head. "The girl whose father burned entire districts just to build her a throne. The little queen who ruled with poison and pearls. You think you scare me, Valentina?"

"No," Valentina said. "I think I end you."

They stared at each other. Titans draped in elegance and venom.

Then Elena smiled—serene, eerie.

"You think this is about him. But it's not. This was always between us."

Suddenly, the doors behind them slammed shut. Gas hissed from hidden vents.

Bryan grabbed Valentina and shoved her to the floor. "Get out!"

But Valentina pulled a pin from her coat—her custom smoke device—tossed it into the room. The clash of two smokes collided, masking everything in white confusion.

Shots fired.

Screams.

Bryan cut Matteo free while Valentina tackled Elena through the window.

They fell two stories into the courtyard fountain, the impact jarring but not fatal.

Valentina surfaced first, sputtering, her hair clinging to her face like ink.

Elena rose next, gasping.

And then they fought.

Not with elegance.

Not like queens.

But like women who had bled too much, lost too much, and had too much left to prove.

Fists, claws, broken fountain stone.

It was primal. Beautiful. Savage.

Finally, Valentina landed the blow that mattered—a crack to Elena's ribs that left her on her knees, wheezing.

"You think you can keep him?" Elena rasped. "You think love will save you?"

Valentina crouched, grabbing Elena's chin. "No. But power will."

And with that, she left her there, broken, as Bryan and Matteo reached her side.

Bryan's eyes met hers—no words.

Just the look.

The one that said: You survived again. You always do. But this time, you didn't do it alone.

They vanished into the night, as the Bianchi estate burned behind them—an empire of lies consumed in flame.