Chapter 8 Glass Queens and Knife Kings

The underground fight club wasn't on any map.

No address. No name. Just whispers and blood.

It pulsed beneath the bones of the city like a forgotten artery, lit with flickering neon and the roaring sounds of fists meeting flesh.

Selene followed Dante down the rusted staircase, heels echoing like gunshots. Her dress was short. Tight. A blood-red slit all the way up her thigh.

She didn't ask why they were here.

She just wanted to know who was going to die.

---

"There's someone you need to meet," Dante said.

They stepped through a steel door into chaos.

Sweat. Smoke. And violence.

A ring at the center. Cages around it. Men cheering like wolves.

And in the middle-a man who looked like a god carved from fire and ruin.

He moved like thunder. Fast. Ruthless. His knuckles bloodied, his opponent already crawling.

The man turned, met Dante's gaze, then smirked.

"That's Cain," Dante said. "He owes me."

Selene raised a brow. "For what?"

"For not killing him when I had the chance."

---

Cain lit a cigarette with shaking hands after the fight.

"I heard you were dead," he said to Dante.

"I am," Dante replied. "Sometimes."

Then he turned to Selene. "This is her."

Cain's eyes scanned Selene. Not sexually. Studying.

"The Castille girl."

Selene straightened. "I'm not just the girl. I'm the daughter of the man Allegra killed."

Cain chuckled. "Then I hope you've got his spine."

"She's got mine," Dante said.

Cain paused. "That's a dangerous thing to give someone."

---

Back at the penthouse.

Selene stepped out of the shower, steam curling around her like a ghost. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Still bruised from the ambush. Still trembling from the weight of it all.

She didn't want to be helpless anymore.

She opened one of Dante's drawers. Inside: knives. A handgun. Cigars. A photo of her father-old, worn, tucked in a leather-bound journal.

She held the picture for a long moment.

Then slipped the smallest knife into her thigh holster.

---

That night.

Dante trained with her.

In a private studio-blacked-out mirrors, padded walls, no music.

"Again," he ordered, voice sharp.

She lunged. He blocked.

"You're hesitating."

She tried again-faster this time.

He spun, caught her by the wrist, twisted.

"Your enemy won't care that you're pretty."

She broke the hold with a growl. "And I don't care that they're dead."

He smiled.

"That's better."

---

Their sweat mingled. Breaths shallow. Eyes locked.

He pinned her against the mat. Her legs tangled around his waist.

"This close," he whispered, "is where most people lose their edge."

"Then they're not me," she replied, arching up, kissing him like a strike.

Clothes fell. Nails scratched. Teeth grazed skin.

She rode him like a storm, every gasp laced with vengeance.

He whispered her name like it was a weapon.

And for the first time, Selene felt it:

She wasn't just surviving anymore.

She was becoming something dangerous.

---

Elsewhere.

Allegra walked through the garden her father once loved-now dead, decayed, roses blackened by rot.

Daniel knelt at her feet.

"She's stronger than we expected," he said.

"I made her," Allegra replied, voice like venom. "She just doesn't remember."

Daniel looked up. "You sure she'll fall for me again?"

Allegra smiled. "You don't need her heart, just her trust. Then you bring her to me."

"And Dante?"

"Dante will burn. Like her father. Like everyone who forgets who the queen is."

She plucked a rose.

It bled in her palm.

---

Later that night.

Selene stood on the balcony, wrapped in Dante's coat. Below, the city sprawled like an open wound.

He joined her, lit a cigarette, handed her one.

She took it without question.

"You're changing," he said.

She blew out smoke. "You don't like it?"

"I like it too much."

She leaned against him. "Teach me everything. I want to be as dangerous as you."

He smirked. "Dangerous doesn't mean strong. It means willing."

"I'm both."

He looked down at her, kissed her temple.

"Then we go to war tomorrow."

---

In the dark, an email was sent.

One word:

"Alive."

Attached: A grainy photo of Selene. Walking beside Dante. Smiling.

It was sent to a contact list labeled:

> - The Santiago Cartel

- Arman Volkov

- Allegra Castille

And someone else.

A name Dante never spoke of.

A ghost from the past.