The Game of Kings

The Docks – Midnight

The tension was thick enough to suffocate.

Belle could hear the water sloshing against the wooden pier, the distant hum of the city beyond the docks—but all of it faded beneath the weight of two men waiting for her answer.

Giovanni stood with his usual arrogance, but there was an edge to him tonight.

He wanted her to break.

Dante?

He was unreadable, his smirk too controlled, his hand gripping her waist too firmly.

"And you, sweetheart?" Dante murmured, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a knife. "Anything you want to confess?"

Belle swallowed.

This was a trap.

Dante was testing her. Giovanni was waiting for her to crack.

Her choices were limited.

If she lied, she could keep Dante's trust—but Giovanni would know, and he wouldn't let it slide.

If she told the truth, she risked losing Dante's protection—and her life.

Her pulse pounded against her ribs.

"I—" she hesitated. Think, Belle. Think.

What was the best move?

Dante was watching her too carefully. Giovanni was smiling too widely.

Neither man trusted her fully.

And that's when she realized—this wasn't about her answer.

This was about power.

Dante and Giovanni weren't just two rival mafia heirs.

They were kings.

And Belle?

She was just another piece on the board.

But what they didn't know—was that she wasn't just a pawn.

Belle let out a slow, careful breath.

Then, she stepped out of Dante's hold.

Both men stilled.

Belle met Giovanni's gaze, then Dante's. She straightened her spine, tilting her chin just enough to show that she wasn't afraid.

"I don't owe either of you an explanation."

Silence.

Dante's eyes darkened, but his smirk didn't fade.

Giovanni let out a low chuckle. "Now that's interesting."

Belle kept her voice steady. Controlled.

"You both want to use me. You both want to test me. But here's the truth—" she turned to Dante, "I didn't kill Carlo because I didn't need to prove anything to Giovanni."

Dante's grip on his whiskey glass tightened, but he didn't speak.

Belle shifted her gaze to Giovanni.

"And I didn't betray Dante because I'm not an idiot."

Giovanni's smirk twitched.

"So, what does that make you, princess?"

Belle let the silence stretch.

Then, she smiled.

"It makes me the one who decides which one of you walks away from this night alive."

The amusement in Giovanni's expression flickered.

Dante's jaw ticked.

And just like that—she had their full attention.

Because she had turned their own game against them.

She wasn't playing defense anymore.

Now, she was making her own moves.

Dante's voice was low. Controlled.

"You think you have that kind of power?"

Belle turned to him, measuring him.

"I think I'm the only one who knows what both of you want. And that makes me more valuable than either of you are willing to admit."

Dante's eyes flickered with something unreadable.

Giovanni, however, was watching her too closely now.

"Smart girl," he mused.

Belle didn't flinch.

Dante finally sighed, tilting his head.

"Alright, Elena. You've made your move."

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers gentle—but suffocating.

"But don't forget—" his voice dropped, so only she could hear, "if you ever make the wrong one, I'll know."

Belle's breath hitched.

She had won this round.

But the game was far from over.