Chapter 5 His hands, Her knife

The storm had arrived with no mercy.

Thunder cracked across the sky as rain lashed down over Naples like bullets from the heavens. The city blurred beneath the sheets of water, a bleeding palette of red neon and shadows. And above it all, high in the penthouse suite of the Moretti Tower, the devil herself stood barefoot, wrapped in silk and wrath.

Celine Moretti didn't blink as lightning lit the glass walls. Her silhouette tall, sharp, commanding was carved into the night like a warning.

She stood alone.

Just as she always had.

A cigarette dangled between her fingers, burning low. She wasn't smoking it just watching it curl ash onto the floor. In front of her lay a table, the surface swallowed by files, photographs, and blood-smeared maps of the city. The kind of table that only murderers and monarchs worked from.

Her empire.

Built with bullets. Ruled with blood.

And now?

Threatened.

She traced a finger across a photo clipped to the center.

Nico De Luca. That charming bastard.

His smirk leapt off the paper. The audacity of it lit a flame inside her. She'd been many things in her life broken, betrayed, beaten but underestimated?

Never again.

A soft ping echoed through the air.

The elevator.

She didn't turn. Her grip on the cigarette tightened.

Only one person had the clearance to walk in unannounced.

"Kai," she said flatly.

The steps were smooth. Controlled. Male.

"I see your security still hates me," came his voice deep, polished, with just enough venom to curl between her ribs.

"They were told not to die tonight."

She turned, slowly.

Kai Romano stood by the glass, the lightning behind him sketching his frame like a villain in a painting. He looked as good as sin: black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark stubble lining his sharp jaw, and eyes like thunderclouds that had seen war.

He tossed his gloves onto the table.

"You've made yourself a target."

"I've always been a target," she replied.

"Not like this."

"You worried about me?" she asked, arching a brow.

He didn't answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

He always had been.

He stepped closer, and the air shifted thickened. Her heartbeat didn't speed up, but her body remembered the rhythm of him. The nights. The violence. The betrayal.

They hadn't touched in years.

Not since she carved her initials into the back of his shoulder.

Not since he bled for her.

"You're at war with Nico," he said, looking at the files. "And the Commission isn't behind you."

"I don't need them."

"You're surrounded, Celine."

"I was born surrounded."

Kai's hand hovered over a blueprint. The docks. Her main shipment lane.

"They hit your east port last night."

"I know."

"Two of your lieutenants are dead."

"I said I know."

He looked up.

"You're bleeding."

She turned sharply. "You didn't come to coddle me."

"No," he said, voice dropping, "I came to remind you that monsters don't rule forever."

"And you think you're the exception?"

"No." His gaze locked on hers. "I think you are."

Silence bloomed between them like a loaded gun.

Celine's robe slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the edge of an old scar one Kai had kissed once, before he put a bullet in the man who gave it to her.

He looked at it now, like a ghost watching his own sin.

"You haven't changed," he murmured.

"Good," she whispered. "Change is weakness."

She stepped toward him. Bare feet silent on the marble.

"You came here to warn me," she said. "But you're staying for something else."

Kai's voice tightened. "This is a bad idea."

"I don't do good ones."

Their breath tangled.

"You think I'm still yours," she said coldly.

"No," he said. "I think I never was."

That truth stung more than it should have.

Her fingers curled around the switchblade on the table.

She handed it to him.

He took it.

She stepped even closer. "Cut yourself."

"What?"

"Do it."

His eyes didn't leave hers.

He pressed the blade to his palm and dragged slowly.

Blood beaded. Fell.

He let it drip onto the floor.

"Happy?" he asked.

She moved until their faces were inches apart.

"No," she said. "Now cut me."

Kai's throat bobbed.

She turned her hand palm-up.

"I don't flinch," she said.

He hesitated, then lifted the blade.

Drew a matching line.

Her blood joined his on the floor.

For a moment, they just stared at the mess.

Then their hands locked wounds pressed together.

She hissed. He groaned.

"What the hell are we doing?" he breathed.

"What we always do," she said. "Bleeding. Together."

She leaned forward.

Their lips brushed.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was war.

They crashed into each other like enemies meeting on a battlefield.

The kiss turned violent teeth and tongue and fury. He lifted her onto the edge of the table, sending papers flying. Her legs wrapped around his waist. She bit his lip. He growled against her mouth.

Her robe fell open.

He froze.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Fuck," he muttered, head dropping to her collarbone.

But she grabbed his jaw and forced his face back up.

"You don't get to stop," she said. "Not now."

"I'm not stopping."

His hands roamed her skin rough, reverent. She arched against him.

But just when the heat turned to fire

She pulled back.

"Get on your knees."

Kai blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

His chest rose and fell. His pride fought it.

Then he dropped.

Celine spread her knees slightly, silk pooling around her thighs.

"Still mine," she whispered.

Kai looked up at her like she was God.

Or the Devil.

And he bowed.

They didn't speak for an hour.

Afterwards, she walked to the window, bare and glowing, wrapped only in lightning.

Kai sat on the couch, shirt open, scratches blooming down his back.

He finally asked, "Is this still about power?"

She didn't answer.

He stood. Walked to her. Wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"This wasn't about him," he said softly.

"No."

"This was about you."

"Yes."

He kissed her neck. "Then let me help you take everything."

Her eyes closed.

For one breath, she let herself believe him.

Then the screen behind them lit up an alert from her encrypted feed.

De Luca.

Live feed. Private club. Her lieutenant Rico bound in a chair, bruised, bloody.

Nico was smiling at the camera.

He held up a glass.

"To the queen," he said.

Then slit Rico's throat.

Celine flinched. The screen went black.

Her pulse dropped into silence.

She stepped away from Kai.

"Celine "

She was already moving.

Back to the table. Back to the maps. The war.

Back to who she was.

She tied her robe tight.

Then slid a fresh blade into her holster.

No tears.

No guilt.

Only fire.

"You still want to help?" she said.

Kai nodded.

"Then get the car. We're burning a city tonight."