#Villa Rosso – One Week Later#
The nausea had become familiar. Not the sickness of weakness — no, this was the kind of sickness that warned the world something powerful was forming.
Sienna sat on the edge of her bed, the silk sheets tangled, morning light glowing against her skin. A letter rested in her lap — Alessandro's handwriting, written before their wedding.
> "If anything happens to me, promise me you'll keep going. You were never made to stand behind me. You are the storm that should have led beside me."
Her hand drifted down again to her stomach, fingers splayed gently.
The child was quiet.
But inside her, she felt it — not a flutter, not yet.
But something else.
Resolve. Purpose. Fire.
She whispered, "You are not just my child. You are my heir."
---
The Midwife's Visit
She allowed only one woman near her now — an old midwife from Naples, trusted by her grandmother. The woman said little. Her hands were steady.
After examining her, she smiled faintly and muttered in thick dialect:
> "Sarà un maschio... e feroce."
(It will be a boy… and fierce.)
Sienna didn't respond at first.
Then:
"No. He will be more than fierce."
She stood, straightening her black silk robe.
"He will be legend."
---
A Letter Unsent
That night, Sienna sat at her desk. She began writing a letter, knowing it may never be read — a letter for the child growing inside her.
> My son — or my daughter — you were born in vengeance. But you will live in power.
Your father was a king of shadows. I am the queen of fire.
And you… you are the bloodline they never saw coming.
She signed it:
Sienna Black.
La Regina Nera.
(The Black Queen.)
Then she sealed the letter with crimson wax and hid it beneath a floorboard in her chambers.
---
She stood before the mirror, dressed in black silk, hand resting on her flat stomach.
"Mio piccolo fuoco…" (My little flame…)
"You will never know your father. But you will carry his name.
You will walk among wolves — and they will kneel before you."
She turned to the window. The vineyards stretched wide and blood-wet in the dawn light.
"Your father ruled the underworld with power."
Her voice grew colder.
"I will burn it into submission."
---
#A New Kind of Vow#
That night, she summoned her Daughters — not to war.
But to promise.
They stood around her, hands outstretched, as Sienna made a vow in Italian:
"Chiunque minacci questo sangue, firmerà la sua morte con un bacio."
(Whoever threatens this blood will sign their death with a kiss.)
And the Daughters of the Night swore it back, one by one.
---
#Villa Rosso – Inner Courtyard#
It started with the way they looked at her.
Not with sympathy.
Not with softness.
But with sacred fear.
The Daughters of the Night — killers, thieves, spies — all of them raised in blood and bone, bowed their heads when she passed now. Not just because she was Sienna Black.
But because she carried legacy inside her.
---
Selene tightened security around the Villa, doubling night patrols and installing hidden explosive traps around the vineyard perimeter.
Aria hacked into prenatal records across Europe to throw off suspicion — making it appear that Sienna Black was childless, infertile, or dead.
Nerina, usually ruthless, began preparing herbal teas, silent protection charms in ancient Sicilian dialect — ones her own mother once whispered.
---
They called the child among themselves:
Il Piccolo Fuoco.
(The Little Flame.)
And they vowed to each other:
"If Sienna falls, we raise the child in her name.
If she rises, the world bends under the weight of that bloodline."
---
#The Armor#
By the fifth week, Sienna commissioned something new.
A custom corset — armored silk laced with kevlar, stitched to expand with her changing shape. Black, regal, and deadly.
"I will not pause," she said aloud, tightening the front herself. "Not for them. Not for him. Not even for this."
But when no one was watching, she placed a hand over her belly again.
"I will kill for you.
But I will also live for you."
And for the first time, the child kicked — just once — like a whispered answer in the dark.
---
#Location: Zurich – Ricci's Private Intelligence Hub#
The image was grainy, pulled from a corrupted street cam in Tuscany. But the silhouette was unmistakable: Sienna Black, stepping out of a blacked-out vehicle, surrounded by four of her Daughters.
Ricci stood over the monitor, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.
"Zoom in. Her hands—what is she doing?"
The tech squinted.
"She... touched her stomach. Briefly."
Another photo. Another angle.
Flowing coat. Low heels. And beneath the silk…
A curve. Barely there. But there.
"Is she pregnant?" one of Ricci's men whispered.
"Don't be ridiculous," another scoffed. "That would be—madness."
But Ricci didn't speak.
His lips parted slightly.
His mind reeled with the one thing he knew about Sienna:
She never showed weakness. Not even for show.
So if the rumor was true…
If she was carrying the last blood of Alessandro Black—
She had become more dangerous than ever.
---
#The Reaction#
Across Europe, whispers moved through the criminal circuits.
"The Queen is carrying."
"There's a new Black rising."
"That's why she hasn't struck Ricci yet… she's waiting."
Some laughed.
Some panicked.
Ricci?
He ordered an emergency meeting with his last two loyal captains.
"We need to end this before she gives birth," he snapped.
But even he knew—
It was already too late.
---
#Sienna's Warning#
That night, across five cities, five packages were delivered to key Ricci allies.
Inside?
A single black baby shoe, dipped in crimson wax.
No note. No explanation.
But every man who saw it knew:
She is not just raising a child.
She is raising vengeance.
---
#Flashback Chapter: When Fire Met Shadow#
Location: Palermo, Sicily – Six Years Ago
It was not fate.
It was a setup.
Sienna Romano had come to the masquerade to steal information — not hearts.
But then she saw him.
Alessandro Black.
Feared in Rome. Respected in Naples. Unknown to her — until now.
He wore a wolf's mask of Venetian silver.
She, a phoenix of gold.
Their first words were not flirtation.
They were a challenge.
"You watch like a thief," he said in smooth Italian.
"And you smile like a liar," she answered.
They danced. Not because they wanted to. But because they couldn't not.
He offered wine. She pretended to sip.
She offered her name. He already knew it.
---
Later, on the balcony, moonlight clinging to them like smoke, he told her:
"I don't want a woman to obey me, Sienna. I want a woman who would burn Rome beside me."
She smirked. "Then light the match."
---
That night, they didn't sleep together.
But they shared a secret — a file, a weapon, a plan against a mutual enemy.
By morning, she had left without a goodbye.
He sent her a single black rose a week later.
She returned it dipped in gasoline.
The war had begun — but so had the love.
---
The Dance
They circled each other like predators — neither surrendering the lead.
He whispered names in her ear — powerful men she'd ruined.
She whispered numbers in his — bank accounts she'd frozen with a wink.
Each step was a seduction.
Each touch a promise of war.
When the music stopped, they didn't.
She pressed her lips close to his ear.
"I don't trust wolves."
"Good," he said, pulling her tighter. "I don't want to be trusted. I want to be chosen."
---
Later That Night
In a moonlit corridor near the De Luca study, she found the ledger.
But so did he.
She reached for her gun.
He raised both hands.
"Relax. I'm not here to stop you."
"Then why follow me?"
"Because I think we're chasing the same target.
And because I've never met a woman who makes a crime scene look like poetry."
She stared at him.
Then tossed him the ledger.
"Let's burn their empire together."
He caught it and said, "Name the match. I'll strike it."
---
The Morning After
There was no kiss.
No number.
Just a black rose left at her hotel door.
A week later, she mailed it back — dipped in gasoline.
He kept it.
And framed it.
---
Interlude Chapter: Viviana – The One Who Watches
They call her La Vedova — the Widow.
But she was never married. Never mourned a man.
Only death stayed close enough to wear her name.
Viviana Moretti knew silence like others knew prayer.
She didn't speak unless Sienna asked.
And Sienna never asked unless it mattered.
---
#The Night She Chose Sienna#
Viviana had been working as Ricci's private executioner — until she was told to kill a woman.
A pregnant woman.
One who had dared to leave his trafficking ring.
Viviana said nothing.
She walked into the house.
She saw the woman.
And for the first time in years, she turned her gun away.
She shot the two guards escorting her instead.
Then disappeared into the night.
---
Two days later, she showed up at Villa Rosso.
Unarmed.
Bleeding.
Her palms turned up like an offering.
Sienna met her at the gates.
"Why are you here?" Sienna asked.
"Because I am tired of killing for men who would murder children."
"And you think I'm different?" Sienna said, arching a brow.
"No," Viviana replied. "I think you're worse. But your fire burns for more than yourself. That's enough for me."
Sienna nodded.
"Then welcome, sorella di notte."
(Sister of the night.)
---
Now...
Viviana watches over Sienna like a blade watches its wielder.
She's the one who sleeps in the shadows outside Sienna's bedroom door.
She's the one who memorized the names on the list — in reverse.
Because if Sienna dies, she finishes the job.
And the child?
She would raise that child like a wolf raises its own.
Not soft. Not safe.
But ready.
---
#Final Note in Viviana's Voice#
"Sienna doesn't ask for loyalty.
She demands it with her silence, with her fury, with her grief.
I don't follow her because I believe in her.
I follow her because I believe in what she'll leave behind".
---
#Dream Chapter: La Profezia del Sangue
(The Prophecy of Blood)#
Sienna, Week 8 of Pregnancy – The Velvet Bedroom, Villa Rosso
The moon was full that night.
Heavy. Pale. Watching.
Sienna drifted into sleep wrapped in silk, surrounded by silence.
And then — the dream came.
---
The Vision
She stood barefoot in the ruins of Rome.
The sky burned gold, but the world was quiet — too quiet.
In front of her stood a child.
Not a baby. Not quite grown.
Black curls. Olive skin. A cruel mouth. Eyes like Alessandro's — only colder.
He wore a crown of thorns, painted in obsidian.
Blood on one cheek.
A blade in one hand.
A black rose in the other.
He looked at her — not with love, but with recognition.
"You made me," he said.
"Yes," she replied, voice trembling. "I made you strong."
"You made me ruthless," he said. "You gave me the world — and taught me to set it on fire."
---
Suddenly, the scene shifted.
The child sat on a throne of skulls, women kneeling at his feet — Daughters of the Night, now aged, heads bowed.
He ruled with justice. But not mercy.
There were no kings left. No priests.
Only him.
And then a whisper in Sienna's ear — soft, female, ancient:
"Your vengeance bore a ruler.
But beware… the world you burn may be the world your child must rebuild."
---
She Woke
Sweat soaked the silk sheets.
Her hand flew to her belly.
Still small. Still silent. But alive.
Outside her window, an owl screamed.
Somewhere in Rome, another traitor bled.
Sienna rose and whispered, to no one in particular:
"Let the child be feared, if it must be.
But let them remember… he was loved."
---
#Chapter: Il Dossier Nero (The Black Dossier)#
Vatican Archives — Beneath St. Peter's Basilica
It began with whispers.
A woman rising through blood and fire.
A widow who commanded armies.
A child in her womb, marked by shadow.
---
Inside the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, beneath layers of marble and guarded by centuries of silence, a priest turned a page.
Father Matteo D'Angeli — once an exorcist, now head of a secret division known only as La Croce Nera (The Black Cross) — studied the dossier.
Name: Sienna Black (née Romano)
Status: Alive
Threat Level: Crimson
Note: Unconfirmed prophecy link to Il Nascosto — "The Hidden One"
"They say she survived the Devil's kiss," whispered Sister Eva, his analyst. "And that she commands women who kill with red lips."
"Legends," Matteo muttered. "But legends are born from truth."
"And the child?" she asked.
"We don't know. But she carries it like a weapon."
---
In the depths of the Vatican sat relics older than Christendom.
Scrolls. Blood-rubbed parchment.
Prophecies of a Queen of Fire who would bear a Son of Judgment.
And always, one phrase returned — scrawled in Latin.
"Ex sanguine Reginae, resurget Umbra."
(From the blood of the Queen, shall rise the Shadow.)
---
Action Taken
An agent was dispatched.
Not to interfere — not yet.
To observe.
To wait.
Because if the child was who the prophecy spoke of, the Church had a choice:
Sanctify him.
Or destroy him.
---
#Ink and Blood#
Location: Milan – Office of Matteo Serra, Investigative Reporter, La Verità Nascosta ("The Hidden Truth")
Matteo Serra had written about warlords, corrupt ministers, and fallen cardinals.
But never had a name stained his notepad like hers:
Sienna Black.
He wasn't obsessed.
He was haunted.
---
It started with the massacre in Naples — 3 men dead, lips smeared with crimson matte lipstick.
Then Berlin. Then Marseille.
Each death was elegant. Precise. Poetic.
Every whisper led back to her.
---
He Knew the Legend
Widow of Alessandro Black.
A Mafia Queen wrapped in velvet and vengeance.
But Matteo didn't chase myths.
He chased evidence.
Late one night, he received a flash drive. No sender. No message.
Inside:
Surveillance photos.
A partial audio clip of Sienna's voice.
And a list: 15 names. All now dead… except one.
At the bottom:
Ricci.
And scribbled beside it, in a woman's handwriting:
"He dies by my kiss."
---
Matteo leaned back in his chair, whispering to himself:
"If I publish this… the world will know what she is.
But if I dig deeper… I might find what she's becoming."
He picked up his recorder.
"Note to self: She's more than a queen.
She's rewriting the code of crime.
And I think she knows I'm watching."
---