SO WHAT IF I AM A WOMAN

The sky over Naples bled red.

Smoke curled like serpents from burning skyscrapers, licking the underbelly of storm clouds as lightning carved white scars across the night. A city on fire. A throne under siege. And at the very top of the world, where blood and power met in perfect silence, stood a woman in heels.

Celine Moretti didn't flinch as the wind tugged at her black leather gown, her slit hem fluttering against toned legs marked with ink and ash. Her long dark hair whipped across her face, but she didn't bother to tame it. Let the world see her wild.

Let them know the devil wasn't a man.

It was her.

In her right hand, a gold-plated pistol gleamed beneath the lightning, slick and still warm. Blood dripped from its barrel, trailing down her arm like ruby tears. In her left, she carried a black briefcase leather, old, and stained with something no cleaner could remove.

Behind her, a man's body lay twisted on the rooftop tiles, throat open, mouth frozen in a silent scream. His suit still smoked from gunfire. His gun remained unfired. Rookie mistake.

Celine stepped over him like a puddle, her stilettos clicking as if she were walking a runway instead of a battlefield. Somewhere below, sirens wailed. But no one would come for her. No one dared.

She walked to the ledge and stared down at her empire.

From this height, the city looked like it was kneeling.

A sudden rustle behind her didn't surprise her. She raised her gun again, but the voice that followed stopped her finger mid-trigger.

"Still dramatic, I see," the man said. "Even your murders have style."

She didn't turn.

"I thought you were dead," she said coldly.

"I was. Then I remembered I owe you a bullet."

Her lips curved not into a smile, but a smirk that could kill gods.

"Get in line."

He stepped into her periphery. Tall. Dressed in black. The rain hadn't touched him. Somehow, he always moved like shadows obeyed him.

Kai Romano.

The one man who ever made her feel anything other than power.

The one mistake she'd never admit to.

"You've gotten colder," he said, looking at the corpse.

She looked him over, eyes trailing up his black gloves to the jawline she once kissed in a room of fire.

"You haven't changed," she replied. "Still pretty enough to shoot."

Kai tilted his head. "And yet you didn't."

"Yet."

He chuckled a low, deadly sound.

They stood there, two devils on a roof made for angels, watching a city burn.

Two Hours Earlier

The ballroom was gold, all mirrors and lies.

Men in suits laughed too loudly. Women in diamonds sipped poison disguised as champagne. Everyone lied with their eyes. Everyone hid knives behind smiles.

Celine Moretti didn't smile.

She stood at the top of the stairs, a black leather slit gown clinging to every curve. Her bare arms displayed tattoos symbols of her rise from blood and betrayal. The snake around her bicep curled toward her shoulder like it could strike. Her eyes scanned the room not for prey but for traitors.

Tonight wasn't about deals. It was about making them bleed.

Her heels clicked as she descended the stairs, silencing the room. Conversations died mid-sentence. No one dared approach.

Except him.

"Ms. Moretti," came a voice, slick and hungry.

Giovanni Lucetti. Minor family. Big mouth. Thought power could be bought. Tonight, he would learn it must be earned.

"You're late," she said without looking at him.

"I was admiring the view."

She turned. "Enjoy it while you can."

He blinked. "Is that a threat?"

Celine leaned close, lips brushing his ear.

"No, darling. It's a promise."

Her gun was already drawn beneath the slit of her dress. He didn't even notice. She walked past him, pressing the cold barrel against his spine. One step. Two. Into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed, he turned. "You know, if you weren't so cold-"

Bang.

The golden gun flared once. Giovanni slumped.

Blood sprayed across the elevator mirrors.

Celine didn't blink.

She pressed the emergency stop button. Removed her glove. Wiped the handle. Dragged his body to the rooftop exit.

When the doors opened again, the only thing that stepped out was power in heels.

Back to Now

Kai stood beside her, watching her in profile. "I didn't think you'd do it yourself," he said. "Figured you'd have one of your pretty little ghosts do the dirty work."

"I like to be thorough," she said. "And I was bored."

"Funny. The last time you were bored, Rome caught fire."

She smiled faintly. "Naples was next anyway."

His eyes searched her face like he was looking for someone who no longer lived there.

"You've built quite the empire, Celine."

"I took it," she corrected. "Like I take everything."

He stepped closer. "Even me?"

She didn't move.

"I never took you," she said quietly. "You gave yourself."

Kai's hand reached for hers the one with the gun.

She let him take it.

Foolish.

But then, so was falling for her the first time.

His fingers curled around hers, warm and slow. Her breath hitched, just slightly. His touch used to burn her. Now it felt like war and memory.

"I never stopped wanting you," he said, voice rough.

Her other hand gripped the briefcase tighter.

"Then you're even dumber than I remember," she whispered.

His lips were inches from hers now. "You killed Giovanni."

"He betrayed me."

"So will I," he said.

Her laugh was bitter.

"Then make it worth the bullet, Kai."

Later that Night

Back inside her penthouse, blood still on her heels, Celine stood before the mirror and removed her dress.

The mirror didn't show a woman.

It showed a weapon.

Scarred. Inked. Beautiful in the way fire is beautiful only from a distance.

She ran a hand down her thigh, over the holster. Her fingers trembled. Not from fear. But from anger. From the heat still trapped in her body from Kai's touch. From the memory of his mouth against hers years ago in the ruins of Florence.

From the truth that she still felt.

And she hated it.

She turned away from the mirror and unlatched the briefcase.

Inside was money. A recording. A ring.

The past.

The future.

And the next name on her list.

Celine lit a cigarette with a gold-plated lighter. Her red lips curled.

The war had begun.

And this time, Naples would kneel or burn.

The rain hadn't touched her, but the storm still followed her home.

Celine Moretti stood in front of the wall-sized window of her penthouse, high above the burning skeleton of Naples. The city still glowed in crimson and smoke, but up here in her black tower of glass, marble, and shadow it looked like art. Beautiful. Violent. Controlled.

She sipped dark espresso from a crystal tumbler, lips still painted blood red, her reflection a ghost in the glass.

Somewhere below, the streets were screaming. But her world remained silent. Deadly. Clean.

She was no longer wearing the gown from earlier. Now, she wore black leather pants, a matching crop top that clung to her like armor, and a spike-studded choker that gleamed with menace. Her short black bob framed her face with surgical precision.

Her golden gun lay on the counter. Polished. Reloaded. Waiting.

A knock came. Once.

She didn't speak.

The door opened anyway.

Kai Romano.

He looked like a sin she regretted enjoying. Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Gloves gone. The tension in his jaw spoke of restraint. Or the desire to break something.

He walked in slowly, as if entering a church or a war zone.

"You're bleeding," he said quietly.

Celine looked down at the graze on her arm. Dried blood streaked her skin like war paint.

"I didn't notice."

He crossed the room. Close, but not close enough to touch. His eyes lingered on the red smear that still stained her briefcase. His voice dropped an octave.

"That was Giovanni, wasn't it?"

Celine raised a brow. "Is that a question or a confession?"

"You knew he worked for me."

"I knew he would betray me. That's all that mattered."

Kai's jaw tensed. "You're making enemies faster than allies."

"I don't need allies. I need obedience."

He took one step closer. The air between them thickened. Charged. Like lightning about to kiss metal.

Kai's voice was rough. "And what do you need me for?"

She stared at him. Her gaze didn't flinch. Her lips didn't tremble.

But something in her chest twisted.

"I don't," she said flatly.

It was a lie. A flawless one. But Kai had always been good at seeing through her masks.

He took another step. Now they were close enough for her to feel his breath.

"I watched you walk away from me once," he said. "Covered in blood. Dressed in black. You didn't even look back."

Celine didn't blink. "And you lived."

"You haunt me, Celine."

She didn't reply. Didn't breathe. Didn't move.

He reached up slow fingers brushing her chin. Testing the boundary.

She didn't slap his hand away.

But she didn't lean into it either.

"You think power makes you untouchable," he said. "But it only makes you a target."

She smiled, but there was no joy in it.

"Let them aim. I shoot first."

Kai's hand dropped. His eyes flickered with something regret, maybe. Or desire. Or both.

Then, his tone changed. "You should know. The Commission is calling a vote."

Celine's eyes narrowed. "On what?"

"On you. Whether you're fit to lead."

She laughed short and sharp.

"Let them vote. I have bullets for each of them."

"It's not that simple."

"It is when I make the rules."

Kai didn't argue. Because he knew. Celine Moretti didn't play the game. She was the game.

He turned to leave. His hand grazed the doorframe, hesitating.

"Don't make me choose between you and survival," he said quietly.

Celine stared at his back.

"You already did. Years ago."

And she didn't stop him when he walked away.

She sat alone again, high above the city.

The queen. The weapon. The ghost.

The rooftop had become her altar. A place where she made sacrifices.

Tonight, it had been Giovanni.

Tomorrow, it might be Kai.

But for now, she was still standing.

And the city still burned beneath her heels.

The room smelled of power and fear an intoxicating mix that Celine Moretti had grown addicted to.

She didn't sit. She didn't smile. She didn't wait to be acknowledged.

She walked into the Commission's private chamber like it belonged to her because it did.

Eight old men in tailored suits turned their heads. Some pretended to sip wine. Others adjusted cufflinks or shifted in their chairs, trying not to appear rattled. But they were. Every single one.

At the head of the table sat Don Alvise, face stretched into a politician's grin. But his eyes? Cornered. Angry.

"You weren't invited, Signora Moretti," he said smoothly.

Celine didn't even glance at him. She ran her hand along the glossy marble table as she walked its length the clack of her stilettos the only sound in the room.

"I heard there was a vote. About my leadership. About my future. I thought it'd be polite to crash my own execution."

A few of the men chuckled nervously. Don Alvise didn't.

"Your methods are causing unrest," he said. "Giovanni was a respected man"

"He was a rat." Celine's voice cut sharp. "And now he's a corpse. The streets are cleaner already."

"You executed him without our approval."

She stopped walking. Leaned forward slightly, her black leather gloves creaking as her knuckles hit the table.

"Let me be clear. I don't need permission to exterminate vermin. I don't need your votes. I don't need your approval. I built this empire from bones and betrayal. I earned this seat with blood."

Don Alvise's smile cracked. "You forget your place."

Celine straightened. Slowly pulled a folded photo from her leather jacket. Slid it across the table with two fingers.

A grainy image. Don Alvise's nephew strung up in a rival gang's warehouse. Eyes wide. Mouth gagged.

A warning.

"You forget yours," she said. "Cross me again, and I'll have your own blood mailed to you in pieces."

Gasps. One of the younger dons stood but quickly sat back down when her eyes flicked to him.

"I see we're all aligned now," she said, snapping her jacket closed.

"No one woman can rule alone," Alvise said coldly.

Celine paused at the door. Looked over her shoulder.

"Who said I'm alone?" she whispered.

And left.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Unknown number.

Message: You're not the only devil in Naples.

She stared at the screen.

Her lips parted into a slow, cold smile.

"Good," she whispered. "I'm tired of eating prey. Let's see how a devil tastes."