The city of Florence never truly slept, not even in the small hours of the night. Its narrow alleys glowed under pale amber lamps, shadows stretching across the cobblestones like waiting arms. Somewhere in those shadows, Lorenzo moved like a phantom, unseen yet everywhere. He had been planning this night for weeks—no, months. Every whisper, every step Selena and Lucian had taken together had been under his gaze.Tonight, the trap would finally spring shut.Lorenzo leaned against the cold wall of an abandoned warehouse, listening to the rhythmic drip of water from a broken pipe. The building was perfect for what he needed: remote enough not to draw attention, spacious enough to house his men, and haunting enough to put fear into even the bravest. He had positioned his guards at every exit, armed to the teeth, their orders precise—no mistakes, no mercy.But for Lorenzo, this wasn’t just about strategy. It was personal.Selena.Even the thought of her name sent a spark of fury and longi
The chamber doors slammed shut with a force that reverberated like thunder through the black marble walls. Amara’s chest rose and fell, ragged, every muscle still taut from the adrenaline of battle. She had ridden the wave of victory like a storm, her sword dripping with the blood of men who dared to oppose her. And now, standing here, she faced the only man who could pierce her armor—not with steel, but with a look.Dante.He stood in the center of the war council chamber, shackles discarded on the floor, his escape as improbable as it was inevitable. His clothes were torn, blood smeared on his cheek, his hair wild from the winds of the escape. Yet his eyes—those dark, consuming eyes—were the same. Burning. Searching. And now, fixed on her.For a long, aching heartbeat, neither moved.“You,” Dante growled, his voice low, hoarse from days of captivity and rage. “What have you become?”Amara didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. Her armo
The battlefield still reeked of iron and ash. Smoke curled into the night like dark fingers clutching at the stars, and the once-verdant valley lay in ruin, littered with broken banners, trampled soil, and the silence of those who would never rise again. Amidst the chaos of victory, Amara stood tall. Her leather armor, once polished and gleaming, was now caked with blood, grime, and soot, but her eyes burned with an intensity that silenced even the howls of the wind.The Empire’s soldiers—Dante’s soldiers—looked at her as though she were something more than human, a force, a legend birthed on the battlefield. Whispers spread:"The Scarlet Widow.""No, the General of Shadows.""She fights like she was born for war."They spoke her name with reverence and fear alike. For weeks now, she had carved her way through enemy lines, breaking ranks, toppling commanders, and securing territory that once seemed lost. She had become both sword and shield of Dan
The night was thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and anticipation. Amara stood in the war room, its walls plastered with maps, surveillance photos, and hastily drawn diagrams. A soft glow from the hanging lamps cast long shadows over the faces of the men gathered around her. They were Dante’s men—hardened, loyal, but uneasy about taking orders from someone who was not Dante himself.She felt their stares—half curious, half doubtful. To them, she was the beautiful woman Dante had risked too much for, the distraction who had once been little more than a pawn. But tonight, she would show them something else.“Where’s the shipment now?” she asked, her voice crisp, commanding.One of the lieutenants, Mateo, cleared his throat. “Dockyard 14. Our scouts say Valerio’s men have taken full control. They’re guarding it heavy, Queen. At least thirty men, fully armed.”Queen. The title still sat strangely on her shoulders, though some used it with sincer
Amara stood in front of the gilded mirror in Dante’s penthouse suite, her reflection staring back with a quiet ferocity. The city lights of Florence sprawled beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows, a patchwork of gold and shadow. Dante was gone—kidnapped by Lorenzo’s men, taken into the lion’s den where every second counted. The ache in her chest had not lessened since his disappearance, but grief was a luxury she could not afford.She was his queen now, whether by design or by cruel circumstance.And queens didn’t weep. They conquered.Amara smoothed the black silk dress that hugged her body, the fabric chosen not for comfort but for war. Seduction was her blade tonight. She would wield it with the same precision Dante used when holding a gun.Her target: Silvio De Luca, one of Lorenzo’s lower-ranking captains. Silvio was greedy, reckless, and notoriously weak when it came to women. Amara had watched him for days, gathering threads of his life fro
The morning after Dante’s abduction was eerily silent in the mansion. No laughter of guards exchanging jokes in the hallways, no sound of Dante’s heavy footsteps echoing with authority, no reassuring warmth of his presence. Only the thin light of dawn filtered through the tall windows, brushing the marble floors with a pale glow.Amara sat at the edge of the massive bed, her trembling hands clasped tightly together. She had not slept. Her wedding dress—now torn and bloodstained—lay discarded in the corner of the room, an ugly reminder of the chaos that had unraveled what should have been the happiest day of her life.She whispered Dante’s name as if it could summon him back. But silence answered.Her chest ached, not only with grief but with a suffocating dread. Dante was out there, in Lorenzo’s hands, and she couldn’t just sit here waiting. She remembered the look in Dante’s eyes before Lorenzo’s men dragged him away—fierce, protective, but also laced wi