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-"