The Mafia's Vengeful Queen

The tension between them crackled with something beyond danger, something heated and electric that had nothing to do with threats and everything to do with the mere inches separating their bodies.

Fuck, he looks good. The traitorous thought slipped through her defenses. Those dark brown eyes, normally cold and calculating, now burned with intensity. The sculpted lines of his face, the controlled power in his hand at her throat. She shouldn't notice these things. Shouldn't feel that treacherous heat unfurling in her stomach.

Not the time to get derailed.

"Research," she said finally, keeping her voice even. "I research all potential employers. Thoroughly."

He studied her for a long moment, then released her throat, sitting back in his chair. "You expect me to believe you learned classified details about cartel movements because you were... job hunting?"

"I expect you to realize I'm smarter than the average bartender." She took another sip of wine, outwardly calm despite her racing pulse. "And that intelligence is a survival skill in this city."

"In my world, knowing too much is dangerous."

"So is knowing too little." She met his gaze evenly. "You really should be more concerned about your security, you know. Your regular booth at Nocturne has a clear line of sight from the building across the street. Terrible tactical positioning."

His expression hardened. "You've been watching me."

"Everyone watches you, Massimiliano. You're a powerful man who makes enemies easily."

"Including you?"

She smiled enigmatically. "I'm just a bartender."

"You're something else entirely." His voice dropped lower, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "And I will find out what."

The server appeared with their first course, breaking the tension momentarily. Tatiana used the interruption to recalibrate, to remind herself of the role she was playing.

Throughout dinner, they continued their verbal sparring. Him probing for information, her deflecting with calculated half-truths. She allowed herself to reveal just enough intelligence to keep him intrigued while steering clear of anything that might expose her true identity.

She matched him drink for drink, laugh for laugh, maintaining perfect control while giving the impression of relaxing in his presence. A careful illusion.

By dessert, she'd established herself as sharp-witted, sarcastic, and unimpressed by his status,qualities she knew would fascinate a man accustomed to either obsequious compliance or naked fear.

"You never answered my question," he said as they finished espresso. "Where are you really from?"

"I was born in Connecticut. Boring, I know."

"And your parents?"

"Dead." The truth, even if incomplete. "Car accident when I was young."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, you're not." She smiled to soften the accusation. "You're cataloging information, looking for inconsistencies."

He didn't deny it. "Family?"

"None to speak of."

"Everyone has someone."

"Not everyone." The bitterness in her voice wasn't feigned nor was it a calculated risk. She was actually showing a flash of genuine emotion.

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of recognition, perhaps. The loneliness of power was something he understood intimately.

The check never came. But that didn't surprise her, Massimiliano De Luca didn't pay bills in establishments he partially owned. As they rose to leave, his hand found the small of her back, possessive and confident.

"I'll take you home," he said, guiding her toward the exit.

The night air was cool against her skin as they emerged onto the quiet street where his car waited.

"Actually," she said, "I can get a cab."

His smile was all predator. "That wasn't an offer."

Massimiliano held the door open for her.

Tatiana hesitated, weighing her options. Getting into his car again meant surrendering control of her destination. Refusing outright would escalate tensions prematurely.

"Fine," she conceded, sliding into the seat. "But straight home."

Massimiliano slid into the driver's seat, his larger frame making the spacious interior suddenly feel confined. "Of course."

The car pulled away from the curb, but Tatiana immediately noticed they were heading uptown, not toward her Chelsea apartment.

"This isn't the way to my place."

"I thought we'd continue our conversation somewhere more private." His tone made it clear this wasn't up for discussion.

"Your penthouse, I assume?" She kept her voice level, calculating distances, options.

"You've done your homework." He seemed pleased rather than concerned by her knowledge of his residence.

"I told you. I'm thorough."

"So am I." His hand settled on her knee, warm through the thin fabric of her dress. "And I'm not finished learning about you yet."

The possessive gesture, the assumption of compliance…it sparked a genuine flash of anger that she carefully channeled into her performance.

"Remove your hand, or lose it." Her voice stern.

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but amusement quickly followed. "Feisty."

"Serious." She stared pointedly at his hand until he withdrew it, though his smirk remained.

The car continued north, approaching the exclusive building that housed his penthouse. Tatiana knew she couldn't allow herself to be taken there. Not yet, not on his terms. It would shift the power dynamic too dramatically in his favor.

As they slowed for a red light on Park Avenue, she made her decision.

"Sorry to cut the evening short," she said, reaching for the door handle, "but this is where I get off."

Before he could react, she had the door open and was rolling onto the asphalt, using the techniques she'd perfected years ago. The impact jarred through her body, but she maintained her momentum, coming up into a crouch and then a sprint.

She heard Massimiliano's shocked curse, the roar of the Lamborghini's engine as he pulled over sharply. Behind her, she could hear the SUV with his security detail screeching to a halt. She didn't look back, disappearing down a side street and then through a service entrance of a hotel she knew had multiple exits.

Twenty minutes and three transportation changes later, she was certain she'd lost any potential tail. Only then did she allow herself to hail a taxi to a location three blocks from her actual safe house, not the Chelsea apartment Massimiliano knew about.

––––––––––

The moment she locked the door behind her, Tatiana kicked off her heels with a muttered curse. Her stockings were ruined, her dress smudged from the pavement, and her palms scraped raw.

"Arrogant, entitled bastard," she hissed, peeling off the dress and examining the bruise already forming on her hip.

The rolling exit had been a calculated risk. Dramatic enough to unbalance him, while simultaneously demonstrating she wouldn't be controlled. But the physical toll was real as the felt the ache all over her body. 

She stepped into the shower, letting hot water wash away the evening's tension. As the adrenaline faded, she found herself replaying moments from dinner: the intensity in his eyes when he'd grabbed her throat, the genuine laugh she'd surprised out of him with her sarcasm, the flicker of recognition when she'd mentioned having no family.

Dangerous thoughts. She couldn't afford to see him as human. He was Lorenzo De Luca's son, heir to the empire built on her father's blood. The fact that he was intelligent, occasionally charming, and unfairly attractive was irrelevant.

Wrapped in a robe, hair dripping onto the hardwood floor, Tatiana moved to the wall that held her real life's work. Unlike the sparse Chelsea apartment, this safe house contained everything she'd gathered on the De Lucas over the years - surveillance photos, financial records, territory maps, hierarchy charts. More detailed than the scraps of newspaper and red threads she had hanging on the wall of her Chelsea apartment.

And at the center: Lorenzo De Luca, the architect of her family's destruction.

Massimiliano featured prominently as well, his businesses, properties, associates, weaknesses. Five years of meticulous intelligence gathering, all leading to this moment. She was finally close enough to destroy them both.

But first, I need him to trust me.

Tonight had been the opening gambit. Establishing herself as intriguing, challenging, but ultimately not threatening. Someone he would want to pursue, to understand, to possess.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

Unknown: Impressive exit. Next time I won't let you go so easily.

Tatiana smiled coldly at the screen. Of course he'd gotten her number, probably from her employee file at Nocturne.

She considered leaving it unanswered, but a calculated response would serve her better.

You assume there will be a next time.

The reply came seconds later.

Unknown: There's always a next time, Tatiana. Sleep well.

She placed the phone down, that unwelcome heat returning to her stomach. The game was only beginning, and Massimiliano De Luca was proving to be exactly the opponent she'd anticipated. Arrogant, persistent, and dangerously perceptive.

Perfect for her plans.

She taped a new surveillance photo to her wall taken by her men. A photo of Massimiliano and her exiting the restaurant earlier that evening, expression intense as he scanned the street. Beneath it, she wrote a single word:

Soon.