Chapter 7: Game Over, Dante.

Bianca's POV

"What next, Dante?"

The words slipped from my lips before I even realized I’d said them. His head turned slowly, that lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he already owned the answer.

"What do you mean by that, Bianca?" he asked, voice smooth but mocking.

I folded my arms. "I mean I can’t let your ass guide me anymore. All you do is sit back and pipe out shit like my father, preaching, strategizing, never bleeding on the floor. You think you’re different from him? Please."

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. "Faster than your shadow, huh? I’m not surprised. Women are always like that...running ahead of themselves."

That hit me raw. I leaned forward, spitting the words with venom. "That same thought is what got your father killed by a woman."

His grin widened, sharp as a blade. "At least you said my father and not me. That’s enough consolation."

"You can’t kill a mafia in one day, Dante." I shot back, daring him with my eyes. "But you can achieve a one year plan in one day."

His smirk darkened. "And who the fuck are you to educate me about the mafia world?"

I tilted my head, lips curving. "Then answer me this....what’s stopping you from holding a war with Mordecai?"

The grin fell. For the first time, seriousness cut through his mask. "Mordecai isn’t just a normal mafia. His skill… is triple mine."

"Okay?" I mocked, leaning back with a smirk, letting my tone drip arrogance.

His gaze hardened. "Your little mindset won’t understand me."

"If you think talking up Mordecai shrinks me, you’re mistaken," I purred. "If his skill is three times yours, I’ll beat the other two out of him myself."

Dante burst into laughter, clutching his chest. "I didn’t know you were a fucking clown, Bianca."

I closed the distance between us. My fingers found his collar, fixing it like a dutiful lover, but my voice was anything but soft. "Clowns make people laugh. I make men fall. And I can beat you with just one simple hack."

My hand slid to his bare chest. His muscles tensed under my palm, his breath caught for half a second...then he staggered back, laughing mockingly.

"Go on, Bianca. Amaze me." He turned, walking inside.

"Let’s make a deal then," I called after him. He paused. "We fight. If you win...if your sword touches my chest and I’m flat on the ground...you get to eat me out tonight, and you get to fuck me however you want, with you dominating. But…" I let the word linger like perfume. "If I win, you tell me where Mordecai is holding his 48th birthday party ."

He froze. His jaw flexed before he spun back, eyes narrowing. "How the fuck do you know about that?"

I smiled like sin itself. "That’s the beginning of why you should fear me, Dante. I’m ten times faster than you."

He stepped closer, grabbed my wrist, voice low. "What makes you think I even want your body?"

I didn’t answer. I just pressed against him, lips ghosting over his ear as my hands slid across his chest, nails grazing skin. His breath hitched when my tongue teased his earlobe.

"Now you have your answer," I whispered, trailing kisses down his jaw. He groaned, hand gripping my waist unconsciously.

I pulled back with a wicked smile, pushing him off lightly. "Prepare the battleground, Dante. Let’s see if you can handle me."

***

By the time night bled into the compound, the arena was alive. Torches burned in iron stands, their flames crackling against the dark sky. The ground was black stone, scarred from years of bloodshed. On one side, long benches stacked with mafia men in tailored suits and women draped across their laps, half-drunk, half-used. They chanted, laughed, their voices raw and wild.

At the center, a circle drawn in white chalk stated tonight’s killing floor.

Dante walked in first, a predator in black leather. His shirt was open halfway, chest sculpted like marble, tattoos slashing across his ribs. A long blade glinted in his hand, an heirloom sword with a silver wolf crest engraved on the hilt. He looked like sin carved into flesh.

"Don’t chant too much," Dante’s voice boomed. "I’m just here to play, not fight."

The crowd erupted in laughter, banging their cups on the benches.

Then silence.

I walked in.

A scarlet gown hugged my body, slit high enough to whisper every secret of my thighs. My hair fell in waves across my shoulders, a long black rope coiled loosely in my hand like a snake waiting to strike.

The men whistled, the women sneered.

"Bianca," Dante smirked. "Hmm, I see you are here to perform and not fight?"

I smiled sweetly. "I swing both ways baby. now let the music hit."

With one sharp tug, I tore the gown from the middle. The fabric split, falling away to reveal my true armor, a fitted black combat corset, leather pants clinging to my thighs, and boots sharpened at the heels. Strapped knives gleamed at my thighs.

The crowd gasped. Then they roared.

I leaned in, whispering against Dante’s lips. "Hey, daddy. Want some sexy play?"

His smirk sharpened as he unsheathed his sword. "So the rope is a mommy toy… and the blade’s a daddy inheritance."

"Let’s see which one makes you beg first," I taunted.

***

It started with speed.

He swung his blade...swift, merciless. I dodged, my rope snapping through the air. He caught it mid-flight, yanked hard, and I fell to my knees, dirt scraping my skin. The crowd roared with laughter.

"Nice move," I coughed, smiling through it.

He circled me like a lion, blade flashing under the firelight. I leapt, rope circling around him, but he cut it free with one sharp strike.

In a blur, his hand gripped my throat, lifting me off the ground.

The men shouted, "Finish her!" The women chanted, "Bed! A woman belongs in a man’s bed!"

Dante laughed, holding me high. "You hear them, Bianca? Even your sisters betray you."

But I only smiled. My mother’s voice echoed in my head: “A She-Mafia doesn’t fight men. She makes men fall.”

Arrogance. That was Dante’s weakness.

I slipped the rope quietly around his ankle while his ego played to the crowd. The moment he raised his sword, I pulled hard. His balance snapped, and he crashed to the ground.

In one fluid motion, I snatched his sword and pressed it against his shoulder.

I leaned down, lips grazing his ear. "Game over, bitch."

The crowd froze in silence.

I straightened, tossing the blade aside like it was trash. My voice rang out, cutting through the air:

"Some women are made for the bed. But some women make the bed...and tonight, I just laid the sheets for him. Go pick your fallen king. He should be awake by now."

The women stared, awestruck. The men...silent.

Without looking back, I started toward the exit. "Dante," I called. "Prepare the map to Mordecai’s party. I don’t waste time with men who sound like Caruso, my father."

His voice followed, low and angry. "You’re making a mistake, Bianca."

I stopped, rope coiling back into my hand like a loyal serpent.

"I am my mother’s daughter," I declared. "And my mother… was Samantha Horhetha Elvalour..the first She-Mafia. I fear no man born of a woman."

My heels clicked against the stone as I walked away, every step tearing into the silence like a promise.