Chapter 4 The Man who wants Her Throne

The invitation arrived in black velvet.

No name. No seal. Just a blood-red wax mark shaped like a wolf's fang , an ancient symbol of the De Luca bloodline.

Celine stared at it, seated at her rooftop bar, leather-clad legs crossed, a golden pistol on the marble beside her wine glass. She turned the card over once, then again.

He was announcing himself like royalty. Bold.

Nico De Luca.

Young. Ruthless. Rising.

He wasn't old money like the rest of the Commission. He was new, wild, strategic, and merciless. He inherited his father's business only two years ago, after the man's throat was slit on the casino steps.

Rumor was, Nico lit the match himself.

She tapped her nail against the invitation, then called for her car.

If the wolf wanted to howl, she'd make sure he remembered what the lioness sounded like.

The De Luca estate looked less like a home and more like a fortress carved into a mountaintop. It overlooked the Mediterranean like a watchful god and tonight, every light was lit.

Celine's black Maybach rolled through the gates slowly, flanked by men in suits and earpieces. Her presence was both an invitation and threat. No backup. No entourage. Just her, wrapped in leather and danger.

Her heels clicked as she stepped onto the polished stone of the grand courtyard. Her eyes flicked upward.

Guards. Snipers. Cameras.

Paranoia disguised as hospitality.

She was ushered through gold-trimmed double doors into a long corridor that bled warmth and wealth. The air smelled of sandalwood and smoke. The walls were lined with abstract art. Chaotic. Like Nico.

She didn't stop to admire.

He was waiting at the center of the great hall, arms crossed, drink in hand. His dark curls were tousled like he'd just rolled out of a lover's bed, and his black shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at sin.

Celine stopped five feet away.

He grinned, slow and charming, a mask hiding sharp teeth.

"Celine Moretti," he drawled, voice slick with mischief. "Naples' infamous queen. I was starting to wonder if you'd ignore my invitation."

She looked him up and down without blinking. "I ignore boys. Not threats."

Nico chuckled. "So which am I tonight?"

"That's up to you."

He motioned to a nearby table. "Drink?"

"I don't consume anything I didn't pour."

"Smart," he said, pouring two glasses anyway. "Paranoia keeps the powerful alive."

Celine took her time scanning the room. She wasn't here to flirt. She was here to measure him and maybe, if he stepped out of line, bury him.

"So what's this about?" she asked finally, folding her arms. "Sending me wolf symbols like some fairy tale villain?"

"I wanted your attention."

"You had it the moment your men started sniffing around my docks."

He took a slow sip. "Then we can skip the foreplay."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm taking Naples," he said bluntly. "And I'm starting with your territories."

There was no shift in her posture. No gasp. Just the slightest tilt of her head, the kind a cobra makes before it strikes.

"You're bold," she said.

"I'm inevitable."

"You're a child playing king," she replied coolly. "And I don't play well with others."

He walked toward her slowly, unafraid. His eyes, deep and gleaming, locked onto hers.

"I don't want to be your enemy, Celine."

"You sent armed scouts to my casino."

"I was curious."

"Curiosity gets men shot."

"Then you'll have to aim better."

They stood inches apart now. No table. No bodyguards. Just heat.

She could feel it rolling off him, that arrogance, that hunger.

"You're not the first man to want what's mine," she whispered.

He smiled. "I don't just want your empire."

She stilled.

He leaned in, voice lowered like a secret. "I want you."

The words hit like a bullet made of silk.

Celine didn't blink. "You'll die trying."

"Maybe. But wouldn't it be worth it?"

She turned to walk away. He didn't follow. But his voice did.

"You're powerful, yes. But you're alone. That's exhausting, isn't it?"

She froze mid-step.

"You sleep in a tower. Eat in silence. Kill anyone who gets too close. You're feared, not loved. Admired, not trusted."

She turned slowly. "Spare me the therapy, Nico."

He stepped forward. "Spare me the illusion. We both know Kai Romano was your last weakness. And look how that ended."

A flash of something dark crossed her eyes pain? Regret? Rage?

She buried it quickly.

"Mention him again," she said flatly, "and I'll carve your tongue out."

Nico grinned like he enjoyed the idea.

"Touché."

They stood facing each other. Not boss to boss. Not predator to prey.

Something... else.

"You intrigue me," he admitted. "You've built something brutal and beautiful. But it's fragile."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a compliment?"

"Both."

She smirked.

"You want my city," she said. "You want my crown. My blood. My body."

"And you want a reason to burn it all down."

Silence.

They saw each other. Not as man and woman but as reflections. Equally dangerous. Equally broken.

"I'll give you a choice," Nico said, voice quiet now. "War... or something more interesting."

"Like what?"

"An alliance."

She laughed once sharp and cold. "I don't ally with thieves."

He stepped forward again, his mouth near her ear. "Then kill me, Celine. Right now."

Her hand twitched the urge to reach for the blade tucked beneath her jacket.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered back, "Not tonight."

As she walked away, Nico didn't stop her.

But he called out, voice calm:

"Be careful, Moretti. There are devils in this city far worse than me."

She didn't turn back. She never did.

But her spine tingled.

Because she knew he was right.

Later that night, back in her penthouse, Celine poured herself a drink and stared at the city from her glass walls. Her reflection was hollow-eyed. Cold. Still.

Kai was back.

Nico had declared war.

And someone unknown had texted her: "You're not the only devil in Naples."

She downed the drink in one swallow.

Then she picked up her phone.

No hesitation.

Message to Nico:

Next time you want to kiss me, don't hide behind threats. Come closer. I dare you.

She dropped the phone. Slid off her leather jacket. Stared at the scar that ran along her ribs, a gift from a man who once claimed to love her.

She traced it slowly.

Then whispered into the dark,

"Let the war begin."