Chapter 1 1

The city pulsed beneath her heels. A living, breathing beast of concrete and glass-unforgiving and full of secrets. Sandy Rhune stepped out of the taxi onto Madison Avenue, her sharp heels clicking on the sidewalk like punctuation marks in a sentence she was about to rewrite.

The November wind bit through her coat, carrying the scent of rain and gasoline. She tightened her grip on her leather folder, heart pounding like a war drum. Tonight was not about nerves. It was about truth. And vengeance.

Inside that folder was a bomb-figurative, of course-but one that could rip through New York's most powerful criminal empire. Don Tino Knightly.

Everyone had heard the name. The king of the underworld. The man who turned the Knightly Syndicate into a multi-billion dollar shadow operation. He wore tailored suits like armor, wielded silence like a blade, and left no traces behind-except for the bodies.

But Sandy wasn't just any reporter. She was the reporter. The kind that made corrupt CEOs weep on live television. The kind that took down politicians and walked away with a Pulitzer. And now she was hunting bigger prey. Personal prey.

Her brother, Cole Rhune, had vanished three years ago. His last known location? A derelict dockyard owned by a shell company tied to Knightly Holdings. NYPD marked it as a runaway case. Sandy knew better.

She walked into Nocturne, an elite club nestled behind steel doors and red velvet curtains. It was Tino Knightly's fortress. And tonight, the queen dared step into the lion's den.

"Name?" the bouncer asked, his bulk barely contained in his Armani jacket.

"Sandy Rhune. I'm expected."

He studied her for a second too long before pressing a button. The door buzzed open. Inside, chandeliers glowed like captive stars. Music pulsed low and decadent. Whiskey laughed in crystal glasses. Everyone inside looked rich, dangerous, or both.

Sandy walked past it all, her eyes locked on the balcony above, where the shadows held court-and he waited.

-

Tino Knightly watched her approach from behind smoked glass. Cameras showed every angle. His eyes, sharp and storm-gray, didn't blink.

"She's early," said Damien Rocca, his second-in-command, lounging in the corner with a cigar between his teeth. "Journalist types don't usually walk into the dragon's mouth."

"She's not here to write an article." Tino's voice was smooth, but it carried a lethal undertone. "She's looking for something."

"You gonna let her live long enough to find it?"

Tino turned, jaw ticking. "That depends."

He stepped out onto the private mezzanine just as Sandy reached the top. Their eyes met. Steel on fire.

"Ms. Rhune," he said. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Sandy's lips curved in a smirk she didn't feel. "I've been trying to get this meeting for months."

"And yet, here you are. In my house. Without an invitation."

She held up the leather folder. "I thought this might earn me five minutes."

He gestured for her to sit at the round table. Leather chairs, wine, low lighting. A stage for diplomacy-or war.

Sandy opened the folder.

Inside were documents, photos, maps-meticulously connected lines pointing to illegal arms deals, offshore accounts, and missing people. Including one familiar face.

Cole.

Tino's gaze didn't waver as he flipped through the files. But something shifted behind his eyes. A flicker of recognition. Guilt? Rage?

Sandy watched him closely. "Do you know him?"

He closed the folder slowly. "That depends on what you want to hear."

"I want the truth."

"The truth," Tino said, pouring himself a glass of brandy, "is a sharp thing. It cuts both ways."

Sandy leaned in. "I think you had something to do with his disappearance. And I'm not leaving until I find out what."

Tino sipped his drink. "You're either brave or foolish."

"Maybe both," she said. "But unlike you, I don't hide behind a syndicate. I fight with facts."

He stared at her like a predator evaluating prey-and deciding if it was worth the hunt.

"I didn't kill your brother," he said, finally. "But I might know who did."

The air thinned.

"Why would you help me?"

He stood, walked to the balcony rail, and looked down at his empire. "Because, Ms. Rhune, you've just stirred a hornet's nest. And now we're both in it."

A pause.

"Meet me tomorrow," he said. "Eleven a.m. Park Row. Come alone."

Before she could speak, two men approached. Rocca raised an eyebrow. "We've got company."

On the screen: black SUVs. Armed men in unmarked gear spilling out onto the street. Not NYPD. Not Knightly's.

Tino's jaw tightened. "Get her out the back. Now."

Sandy stood, confused. "What the hell is going on?"

"You wanted the truth?" he growled, tossing her the folder. "Welcome to it. Someone wants you dead."

-

The alley behind Nocturne reeked of oil and fear. Sandy ran, heels discarded, folder clutched to her chest as gunfire echoed in the distance. Tino's men flanked her like shadows, silent and swift. A black car screeched to a halt.

"In!" Rocca barked, shoving her into the backseat.

The car tore through midtown traffic as chaos swallowed the street behind them.

Sandy sat frozen, breath ragged. She turned to Rocca. "Who were they?"

He looked at her, grim. "Someone who doesn't want you talking to the Don."

Her phone buzzed. A message. No ID.

You should've stayed away. You've been warned.

She looked up at Rocca. "This... this is bigger than just Tino Knightly, isn't it?"

He gave a tight nod. "You just put yourself in the middle of a war, sweetheart. And there's no turning back."

-

Back at his penthouse, Tino Knightly stared at the skyline, glass cracking in his hand.

Sandy Rhune. The name burned now.

He remembered Cole. He remembered the betrayal. But what haunted him most was how much Sandy's eyes mirrored her brother's-same fire, same innocence buried under rage.

He could lie. He could kill her. But the truth was louder.

Because three years ago, Cole Rhune died protecting something the world wasn't ready for.

And now, his sister was standing at the edge of that same fire. Tino closed his eyes. This time, I won't let them burn her.

Certainly. Here is the continued Chapter One of CROWN OF BLOOD: THE DON'S RECKONING with deeper intrigue, character development, and emotional tension.

---

Chapter One (Continued)

The Queen's Gambit, Part II

The safehouse was far from glamorous-a rundown brownstone in the Bronx with boarded windows and a steel-reinforced door. Sandy sat at the edge of a leather couch, eyes glued to the folder on her lap. Her knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly. The dim light overhead flickered, casting long, nervous shadows across the floor.

Across from her, Damien Rocca paced like a caged animal, gun holstered but ready.

"Who the hell were they?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn't a random attack."

Rocca didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced at his phone, typed something quickly, then looked back at her. "Mercenaries. Eastern European, judging by their gear and tactics. Professional. Not your average street muscle."

"So someone hired them. For me?"

He gave her a look. "Not just for you. You walked into Knightly's world, sweetheart. Now you've painted a target on your back-and his."

Sandy's jaw tightened. "I didn't come to play games. My brother is dead, and the only lead I've had in three years pointed straight to Tino Knightly."

"And now he's the one keeping you alive."

The silence that followed was loud.

She hated it-hated the irony, hated the helplessness clawing at her spine. But more than that, she hated the gnawing truth: Tino Knightly might be her only hope.

A knock at the steel door made them both freeze.

Rocca drew his weapon. "Don't move."

Sandy swallowed.

Two coded knocks followed-the pattern changed. Rocca exhaled, lowered the gun, and opened the door.

Tino Knightly stepped in, trench coat flaring behind him like the wings of a fallen angel. His eyes met Sandy's immediately.

"You alright?" he asked.

She nodded once. "Shaken. Not dead."

He gave Rocca a subtle nod. "Get the perimeter locked down. We're not staying long."

As Rocca disappeared into the hallway, Sandy stood, clutching the folder to her chest like armor. "So now what?"

Tino approached her, calm and deliberate. "Now we talk. No smoke. No mirrors."

She narrowed her eyes. "You said you didn't kill my brother."

"I didn't."

"But you knew him."

"I did."

He sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Your brother worked for me."

The words hit like a slap.

"What?" Her voice cracked. "No. Cole wouldn't-he hated everything the Mafia stood for."

"He didn't come to me for money or power," Tino said, his tone even. "He came to me because he believed something was wrong with his department. He was a cop, Sandy-but he was also a whistleblower."

Sandy's knees gave out, and she sank back to the couch. Her brain raced to catch up.

"He never told me..." she whispered.

"He couldn't," Tino said. "He was in too deep. He uncovered a task force-off-the-books, government-sanctioned, but corrupt. They were working both sides of the law. Smuggling weapons, drugs, laundering money. Using my name as a shield. When he tried to expose them, they made him disappear."

Tino leaned forward, voice low. "He came to me for protection. I offered it. But someone inside my ranks betrayed us."

Sandy stared at him. "You're telling me Cole died... because of someone in your organization?"

Tino's silence confirmed it.

"I couldn't save him," he said. "And I've been hunting the traitor ever since."

Sandy's emotions whipped through her-grief, fury, disbelief. "Why didn't you come forward?"

"And say what? That the Mafia was trying to do the right thing? No one would believe me. They'd bury the truth with him. Just like they did with every other body the system failed."

She stood suddenly, pacing. "Then let me publish this. Let me put it all out there. The truth, the cover-up-everything."

Tino shook his head. "Not yet. They tried to kill you tonight, Sandy. That means someone knows you're close. We need to be smart."

"We?"

"Yes," he said, standing. "Because whether you like it or not, you're part of this now."

She looked up at him-at the man whose empire was built on secrets, violence, and blood-and saw something she hadn't expected.

Regret.

Genuine. Heavy. Human.

It didn't make him innocent.

But it made him real.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice calmer now.

"I have a meeting tomorrow," he said. "With someone who claims to have new intel on the mole. You'll come with me."

"Won't that make me a target?"

"You already are. Better to keep you close."

Sandy gave a dry laugh. "I didn't plan to become the Don's shadow."

Tino's gaze didn't falter. "You're not my shadow, Sandy. You're my storm."

The words hit something inside her-a tremor that wasn't entirely fear. She pushed it down.

"Then let's finish what Cole started," she said.

Tino offered a hand. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then took it.

His grip was warm. Strong. And for the first time, she didn't feel like she was falling. She felt like she was fighting back.

-

Hours later, as the city slumbered beneath rain and silence, Sandy lay awake on a mattress in a spare room at the safehouse. Sleep was impossible.

Memories of Cole danced behind her eyelids- his laughter, his teasing, the way he always tried to protect her... And now, she had to protect his truth.

In the next room, Tino Knightly sat at a desk, studying surveillance photos and encrypted files.

He stopped at one image- a man in a gray suit, half-hidden in shadow. Cold eyes. Crooked smile.

Victor Drazen.

Former arms dealer. Current ghost. Rumored to be the invisible hand behind dozens of proxy crimes. And once, long ago, his ally.

Until he killed Cole Rhune. Tino's jaw tensed. The past was catching up. And this time, he wouldn't run.