Asher pov
The city smelled like rain and gunpowder, though no storm had broken yet. That was how it always felt on nights like this like something was waiting to snap.
I sat in the unmarked car across from the Salvatore Hotel, watching the sea of expensive cars glide up the driveway. The place glittered under chandeliers and flashbulbs, all diamonds, champagne, and blood money. A shrine to corruption, built by the queen of serpents herself.
My jaw tightened as I checked my watch.
Emma shifted in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone. "Still think this is a good idea? Crashing the serpent's nest?"
I didn't answer right away. The truth was, no this wasn't a good idea. It was suicide wrapped in a tuxedo. But then again, my whole career had been one long suicide mission.
"It's not about good ideas," I said finally, eyes still on the golden-lit entrance. "It's about getting close enough to see the truth. And tonight, the truth wears a dress."
Emma arched a brow. "You mean her."
She didn't have to say the name. Everyone knew who ruled the Vipers Clan now. Rose Varela, they whispered her name the way children whispered ghost stories in the dark. Chaos, they called her. The new lord of the underworld.
But I'd seen ghosts before. They bled like anyone else.
"Let's go," I said, stepping out of the car.
Inside, the hotel was suffocating in opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen tears, and marble stretched across the floor in flawless white veins. Every guest shimmered in designer silk and steel-eyed confidence, predators circling in polite conversation.
Emma walked beside me, her hand brushing the gun at her hip under her gown. She looked every inch the part of a spoiled heiress, but I knew the blade she carried was sharper than her smile.
We blended in seamlessly until she appeared.
Rose.
I'd seen her in grainy surveillance photos, in police dossiers, in whispered testimonies from broken men. None of it prepared me for the reality. She wasn't just beautiful. She was terrifyingly alive, like fire trapped in a bottle of fine wine. Black silk clung to her like sin itself, her eyes glimmering with a wicked intelligence that saw too much.
The air in the hall changed when she took the stage. Everyone knew it. Everyone felt it. And then she spoke.
"My name is Rose Varela," she said, her voice silk and smoke. "The new Lord of the Vipers Clan. But you can call me Chaos."
A ripple of fear tore through the crowd. Some gasped, others froze, but all of them listened. That was her power. She didn't just demand attention—she owned it.
I should have looked away. I should have ignored the pull in my gut, the strange thrill that ran through me at the sound of her voice. But my eyes stayed locked on hers. And she noticed.
For a second, just a second. Her gaze found mine. And I swear she smiled.
Later, when the hall emptied into laughter and champagne, we moved.
Emma and I slipped into the parking lot first, weapons hidden, nerves sharpened to steel. The air was cool, humming with the promise of violence.
"Positions?" Emma whispered.
"Already here," came the reply through her earpiece. Backup waited in the shadows, ready to close in.
Then the doors opened. Rose emerged with a woman at her side. Mica, the shadow. I knew her reputation: silent, merciless, loyal to a fault.
I stepped forward, my gun raised. "We're taking you to the station."
Rose tilted her head, amused. Her eyes dark, bottomless, they studied me like I was the most interesting puzzle she'd ever seen. "And if I don't?"
Before I could answer, Mica struck, disarming Emma in a blur of movement. The weapon was suddenly pressed against my chest, her finger tight on the trigger.
My heart didn't race. It never did. Fear was a luxury I burned out of myself years ago. But anger that burned hot and steady.
"We'll go with you," Rose said sweetly, her smile curling like smoke.
That was the moment I knew. She wasn't afraid. She was playing.
The drive to the station was thick with silence. Emma stared out the window, tense. Mica sat like a coiled spring, daring anyone to move wrong. And Rose leaned back, her posture regal, her eyes fixed on me with infuriating calm.
I could feel her gaze like a touch. Cold and hot at once. She wasn't studying a cop. She was studying prey.
At the station, I led her into the interrogation room myself.
"Sit," I ordered.
She sat gracefully, crossing her legs as though this were a throne room, not a gray box with peeling paint and buzzing lights. Mica leaned against the wall, her glare like a blade aimed at my throat.
I closed the door behind me, the click echoing louder than it should have.
"Rose Varela ," I said evenly, taking the chair opposite her. "Lord of the Vipers Clan."
"Chaos," she corrected with a soft laugh. "Don't pretend you haven't heard the name."
I ignored the taunt. "You're under investigation for racketeering, illegal arms trading, murder...."
She yawned delicately, as though I were boring her at a dinner party. "Inspector, let's not waste time. You and I both know this isn't about paperwork."
Her voice was low, dangerous. The kind of voice that could talk a man into burning his whole life down just to hear it again.
My jaw tightened. "Then what is it about?"
She leaned forward, her perfume dark roses and smoke. Filling the air between us. Her smile was sharp enough to draw blood.
"It's about the fact that you've been watching me all night. And now I'm curious, Inspector King. Are you hunting me… or are you chasing something else?"
The question hit harder than I expected. My silence must have given something away, because her smile widened.
I hated her in that moment. Hated the way she could read me. Hated the way my pulse betrayed me.
But more than that I hated the fact that she was right.
The door opened then, breaking the tension. Bran stepped in, his presence commanding as always. Years of battle hardened into one steady gaze. He didn't waste time with introductions. He didn't need to.
Rose's expression shifted slightly at the sight of him, the smile lingering but her eyes sharpening.
"Hello, Bran," she said softly, almost tenderly.
The room seemed to grow colder.
I didn't know what history lay between them, but in that instant I understood something vital:
This wasn't just my fight anymore.
This was a war I was already too deep in to walk away from.