QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD

The air was colder in the mountains, as though the altitude itself conspired to thin Valentina's composure. Pine trees loomed like silent witnesses as the black SUV curved through the forgotten backroads toward the coordinates. Mist clung to the hills like ghost's breath.

Bryan drove. Matteo sat in the back with a gun across his lap and a half-healed scowl on his face. No one spoke.

They all felt it.

The weight of a legacy clawing its way back from the dirt.

When they finally arrived, dawn was barely breaking. Fog covered the clearing, and the ruins of an old chapel stood like bones. Ivy strangled what was left of its stone ribs. This was it—the place Valentina's father had died. And, supposedly, the place his enemies had buried the truth.

She stepped out first.

Leather boots sank into wet earth. Her fingers brushed the cold steel of the knife hidden beneath her coat. A habit. A warning.

"According to the message," she murmured, scanning the crumbling arches, "there's a catacomb beneath the altar."

Bryan joined her. "You think the ledger's down there?"

"I think," she said, "we're not the first ones to come looking."

They entered cautiously. Moss and decay whispered with every step. The altar had split down the middle, revealing a narrow stone staircase beneath.

"Hell itself," Matteo muttered.

"Or something worse," Bryan replied.

They descended.

⸻

The catacombs smelled of mildew and old blood. Flickering flashlights illuminated the walls, carved with Latin phrases—blessings turned brittle with time.

At the end of a long corridor, they found it.

A vault.

Unmarked. Rusted. Locked with both code and fingerprint.

Valentina stepped forward. "This was built for him. My father."

"Do you know the code?" Bryan asked.

She nodded once, slowly. "His favorite poem. Line numbers."

She keyed it in.

The vault creaked open with the agonizing sound of old secrets yielding.

Inside: a leather-bound ledger, black as pitch. And beside it… an envelope.

Sealed in red wax.

She grabbed the ledger first. "Proof of every transaction, every alliance. This could break the families apart."

Bryan lifted the envelope. His jaw clenched.

"It's addressed to you."

Valentina broke the seal. A single page. Her hands trembled as she read.

Then stilled.

"What is it?" Matteo asked.

She looked up.

"My father had a brother."

Bryan's breath caught.

"And he's alive."

⸻

Back at the safehouse, they laid out the ledger on the glass table, its ink faded but legible. Names. Dates. Deals with the devil.

"What does this mean for you?" Bryan asked.

"It means everything I've built," she said, voice tight, "could be challenged."

"By a man we've never seen. Never heard of."

She nodded. "A ghost with a claim. One who's waited until I was strong enough to threaten the others."

"You think he sent the coordinates?" Matteo asked.

"No. That wasn't a warning. That was bait."

⸻

That night, as tension cracked like static between them, Bryan found her outside again—leaning against the balcony rail, hair loose, cigarette unlit between her fingers.

"I don't smoke," she said as he approached. "I just like the taste of rebellion."

He smiled faintly, took the cigarette, and tossed it over the railing.

"You don't need smoke to set the world on fire, Valentina."

She turned.

This time, she didn't stop herself.

She kissed him.

Slow. Hungry. A war waged in shadows and lips. The way she pulled him closer—like claiming territory.

He gripped her waist, mouth pressing back with heat that had simmered too long.

When they broke apart, both were breathless.

"You're dangerous," she whispered.

"So are you," he murmured. "But I'll risk it."

⸻

Inside, Matteo shouted.

Valentina was the first to move, gun drawn before thought finished forming.

They burst into the room—and found the window shattered.

Matteo gone.

And a symbol carved into the wall in blood.

A vulture, wings spread wide.

Bryan's voice was a whisper of dread.

"He's here."