"I wasn't born a monster. But the moment he put a bullet in my father, something inside me broke. And something else—something worse—woke up."
They called it a power shift.
I called it what it was:
A slaughter.
The De Lione family didn't just take territory. They took blood. Took loyalty. Took the only man I'd ever trusted and left him in a pool of it.
I was nineteen when Damien De Lione pulled the trigger and watched my world burn.
He spared me.
Not out of mercy.
Out of cruelty.
"You're not ready," he said, with a smirk that still haunts me.
"Let's see what you grow into."
Well, darling…
I hope you're watching now.
Because I've grown claws.
And tonight, they're painted red.
The rooftop of La Sangre is wind-slick and silent, floating above the city like a throne carved from shadows. Barcelona pulses below us — sinful, corrupt, and completely unaware that two monsters are about to decide its future over champagne and threats.
I sit at the head of the table. Black leather gloves. Blood-red dress.
And a look that dares any man stupid enough to try me.
He's late.
Of course he is.
Damien De Lione has always liked control — and I've always liked taking it from him.
The elevator dings.
I don't turn. I wait. Let him come to me.
Like the devil he is.
And he does.
Six-foot-something of tailored violence, walking like the building belongs to him. Damien looks like temptation dipped in blood — dark suit, black shirt, no tie, and those cold grey eyes that used to pin me to marble floors in nightmares I didn't ask for.
He stops at the edge of the table.
"Still playing queen?" he murmurs, voice like silk soaked in smoke. "Cute."
"Still pretending you didn't choke on your father's legacy?" I smile. "Even cuter."
We don't shake hands. We don't smile.
This isn't a reunion. It's a reckoning.
"You're bold, Heaven," he says slowly, circling the table like a panther. "Wearing that color tonight."
"It's not red," I reply, lifting my glass. "It's war."
We talk.
About ports. Profits. Dead men who never mattered.
But it's not what we say — it's what we don't.
His eyes stay on my mouth too long.
My fingers trace the rim of my glass just to watch his jaw tighten.
And every sentence feels like foreplay wrapped in poison.
He thinks this is a negotiation.
But I didn't come here to make peace.
I came to make him bleed.
"One rule," I say, standing slowly.
"No lies. you betray me Damien, I'll burn your fucking empire to the ground and ..."
walking closer to him I say
"I'll kill you and bury you next to your father with a smile" I smile
He rises too. Close. Too close.
His voice drops, rough and velvet-dark.
"I don't lie to women I want to keep and I don't share what's mine".
I laugh — quiet, sharp.
"You don't get to keep me, Damien."
His hand brushes my wrist. Just a graze. Just enough to make me inhale.
"We'll see."
I stare blankly. "Then we have a problem".
"No" he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "We have a beginning".
I leave without looking back.
But I know this:
He's watching.
He always does.
Because Damien didn't spare me out of weakness.
He spared me because he wanted to see if I'd survive.
And now that I have…
He wants to ruin me all over again.