Blood in the WaterWord traveled faster than bullets.Milo had stepped back. Not in whispers, not in back-alley murmurs. No, this was announced in the language criminals respected most: silence followed by blood.The first to test me was the Andalusian crew. They intercepted a Bratva shipment at the coastal docks,six men masked in black, loaded with guns, and just dumb enough to think I was Milo-light.The second was subtler. A whisper bounty. My photo, printed and folded into a red envelope, was passed around in gambling dens and underground rings. It carried no price. That was the insult,as if I wasn’t worth a number.I stayed still. I let the fire come.Because queens don’t chase chaos. They weaponize it.I stood at the window of the meeting room, watching the city breathe beneath me. Somewhere below, an apartment had gone up in flames."You don’t test a queen with fire," I said to no one in particular. "You drown her enemies in it."My orders were quiet. Precise. I didn’t scream.
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