Ada_Stormzy

When the brutal patriarch of the Scarlatti family dies under mysterious circumstances, his estranged daughter, Valentina Scarlatti, is summoned back from exile to claim the empire she once ran from. As she steps into the shadows of her family’s throne, she discovers her father left behind more than secrets—he left enemies, blood oaths, and a vendetta that threatens to burn the whole dynasty down.

Standing in her way is Bryan Moretti, a ruthless fixer from the rival Moretti syndicate with a vendetta of his own. But when a mutual enemy surfaces—one who wants both families destroyed—Valentina and Bryan must form a dangerous alliance, where trust is traded for power, and desire is a weapon neither can afford to wield.

QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD

Valentina stood barefoot in the training hall, her fists wrapped in black gauze. The space reeked of sweat, steel, and something old—anger buried too long. She threw another punch, then another. The bag shuddered but didn't swing. She wasn't here to move it. She was here to bleed.

"Your stance is off,"Bryan said from behind.

"I don't need critique," she snapped.

He didn't move closer, just leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching. "I think you do."

She struck again, faster. Harder. Her shoulder screamed. Still she didn't stop.

"Something's coming," he said quietly. "There are whispers about a move on your south port."

She ignored him, but her rhythm faltered.

He pushed off the wall and walked to her, standing too close. She could smell the heat off his skin, feel the cold press of his stare.

"You fight like you're trying to forget something," he said.

Valentina turned, eyes bright with fury. "And you watch like you're trying to remember."

The tension snapped. His hand caught her wrist mid-strike. They froze.

Bryan's eyes burned into hers. "Say please."

She stepped closer, eyes dark and unblinking. "Please," she whispered—not in submission, but promise.

His grip didn't ease. Instead, he brought her hand to his chest, resting it over his heart.

"This is what you do," he said low. "You make war feel like foreplay."

"And you," she said, pulling her hand back slowly, "make foreplay feel like betrayal."

Later, in her quarters, Valentina sat on the edge of the bed, turning over an old locket in her hand. Inside was a photograph—her as a child, clinging to her father's leg. Her mother in the background, blurred, as always.

"You okay? "Bryan's voice was soft, careful.

"Do you ever wish you'd left this life behind?" she asked.

He walked in, sat in the chair opposite her. "No. I wish it had never touched me in the first place."

Valentina looked up. "But it did."

Her breath caught. The locket slipped from her hand to the carpet.

Bryan stood. Crossed to her. Crouched down, lifting the chain gently.

"You think I haven't wanted to touch you?" he said. "You think I haven't thought about it every night since the day we met?"

"I'm not asking for softness," he said. "Not from you. But I am asking for honesty."

She rose slowly, standing so close their shadows merged.

"You want honesty?" she murmured.

"I want to forget the world when I'm with you," she said. "I want to make this empire burn just so we can breathe."

And then—finally—he kissed her.

It was heat and fury and too much need, too long denied. She kissed him back like she was taking control of it, of him, of the war between them.

When they finally broke apart, her voice was a whisper against his lips.

His smile was almost sad. "I was warned the moment I met you."

Chapter 7: Beneath the bruise, the pulse