The Queen Without King

What do you do when the war is over, but the battlefield is still covered in blood?

Celeste....

Grief is a funny thing. People expect it to be loud—screaming, breaking things, drowning in sorrow. But the real agony is silent. It seeps into your bones, settles in the spaces between your ribs, and coils around your throat like smoke from a fire that refuses to die.

It had been weeks.

Weeks since Adrian bled out in my arms.

Weeks since the fire consumed what was left of him.

Weeks since I stood at his grave, staring at the empty coffin, knowing that his body had turned to ash in the flames, knowing that no matter how deep they buried that box, there was nothing inside it.

And yet, I still woke up expecting to see him standing at my side.

I still turned my head when I walked into a room, expecting that smug smirk, that sharp gaze that saw through every layer of me. I still felt his presence in every shadow, in every dark alley, in every whispered breath of the city he had built with his own blood.

But Adrian Russo was gone.

And in his place, all that was left was me.

One Month Later

I walked through the wreckage of what had once been my father's empire. Smoke curled into the night sky, thick with the scent of gasoline and burning wood. The fires hadn't gone out yet—not completely.

That felt right.

William Carter's entire legacy was crumbling, and I wanted to watch it burn.

The men who had worked for him—those still breathing—had either fled or were bound at my feet, kneeling on scorched concrete, hands behind their heads, faces turned down in submission.

I had given them a choice.

Swear fealty to me or be buried with the remains of their former king.

Most had chosen wisely.

Dante stood at my side, arms crossed, watching the flames reflect in my eyes. "It's done," he said.

I exhaled, my fingers tightening around the gun in my hand. "Not yet."

Dante gave me a look, but he didn't argue. He knew better.He knew what came next.

One of his men was still breathing. The mole himself, my father, was still out there, slipping through the cracks, playing a game I no longer intended to lose.

And I was done letting my enemies take from me without consequence.

Two Hours Later

The safehouse was dark, the only light coming from the single overhead bulb that flickered weakly. My boots echoed against the cold floor as I approached the chair in the center of the room.

The man strapped to it was already bleeding—one of my father's right-hand men. Not the puppet master himself, but close enough to make him hurt.

Not enough to kill him. Just enough to make him understand that he was at my mercy.

He lifted his head as I approached, one eye swollen shut, blood trickling from his split lip. Even now, even beaten, he smirked.

"You're just like him," he rasped.

I tilted my head. "No."

His smirk faltered slightly when I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm worse."

He swallowed, and for the first time, I saw fear flicker in his eyes. Good.

I pressed my gun to his knee. "Where is William Carter?" My voice was ice, my hands steady as I pressed the gun harder into his knee. "Where is my father hiding?"

The mole chuckled weakly. "You think this ends with me?"

I didn't hesitate.

I pulled the trigger.

His scream was music to my ears.

I crouched lower, watching as he gasped through the pain, his body trembling. "That was for the bullet wounds he took. The next one?" I pressed the barrel to his other knee. "That's for the fire."

His breathing turned ragged. His smirk was gone now. "You think this will bring him back?"

My fingers tightened on the trigger. "No."

I fired again.

Another scream. Another plea. Another breath of vengeance filling my lungs.

Dante stood in the corner, watching in silence, knowing there was no stopping this. Not this time.

The mole sobbed now, his bravado shattered. "Celeste, please—"

I tilted my head. "Now you beg?"

I let the silence stretch between us before pressing the gun to his forehead. "You were one step ahead of me before," I murmured. "But you didn't account for one thing."

His breath hitched. "Wh—"

I smiled. "I don't play by the rules anymore."

I pulled the trigger.

The body slumped forward, blood pooling at my feet.

I straightened, exhaling slowly, my heartbeat steady.

It was done.

The man who helped orchestrate Adrian's death—the man who thought he could manipulate me into submission—was gone.

But the war wasn't over.

Not until William Carter was dead.

I turned to Dante, who had been watching silently. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look disgusted.

He just nodded.

"What now?" he asked.

I stared down at the corpse, at the blood on my hands, and then up at the city that had become my kingdom.

I wiped the gun clean, my voice steady. "Now? Now, we go after the king."