The House of Vipers did not welcome light.
It was a kingdom of darkness, stitched together with fear, discipline, and blood—an empire where every breath carried danger and every shadow whispered death. Only one man ruled it with iron ruthlessness: Lorenzo DeLuca, the underworld's coldest legend, the man known as The Reaper.
Not because he killed without mercy.
But because when he arrived, hope died first.
Tonight, he stood at the center of the Vipers' training yard, watching new recruits break under the weight of exhaustion. Their breaths shook. Their knees trembled. Sweat soaked their shirts.
But him?
He didn't sweat.
He didn't breathe hard.
He didn't blink.
Lorenzo DeLuca was carved from cold stone. Six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, a face sculpted with sharpness, and eyes a chilling silver—eyes that saw everything, trusted nothing, and hated everyone.
Especially her.
Especially Bianca Romano.
She stood at the far end of the training yard, knuckles bruised, lip split, yet refusing to fall. The sun had set hours ago, and most recruits already lay on the ground panting like dying dogs. But not Bianca.
She stood steady, even though her body was screaming.
Lorenzo hated that about her—her fire, her stubbornness, her strength. Hated that she never broke. Hated that she dared to join his organization without fear.
But what he hated most…
was that she reminded him of something he buried long ago.
Himself.
A dangerous crack of emotion flickered in his chest, something he quickly crushed.
"Again," Lorenzo commanded.
His voice was deep, cold, and lethal. A voice that froze blood.
Bianca whipped the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the blood. "I've already done it fifty times."
Lorenzo stepped closer. "Did I ask you to count, Romano?"
She stiffened.
The other trainees stepped back. Everyone in the House of Vipers knew what happened when The Reaper got irritated. Bones were broken. Pride was crushed. Sometimes lives were ended.
But Bianca didn't move.
She held his stare.
Stupid girl.
Fear was a survival tool. And she didn't have it.
Lorenzo grabbed her chin sharply. "Maybe I need to teach you the meaning of obedience."
She jerked her chin out of his hold. "Maybe you need to teach with words instead of threats."
Silence cracked through the yard.
Everyone froze.
Bianca Romano had just talked back to The Reaper.
One of the rookies actually whispered, "She's dead."
Lorenzo stepped forward, slow and dangerous, eyes narrowing. "Bloody Rose," he whispered her codename with venom, "you seem to think you're equal to me."
She swallowed hard but kept her chin high. "No. But I came here to get stronger, not to kneel."
"You'll kneel if I force you," Lorenzo said.
Her voice came out steady. "You can force my body. Not my spirit."
The air thickened.
Lorenzo's jaw flexed. He hated her even more than five seconds ago.
He hated her arrogance.
He hated her courage.
He hated her refusal to fear him.
But what he hated the most was that her eyes—dark, fierce, burning—held the same look he once had as a child.
A child who watched his mother die.
A child who saw his younger brother take his last breath.
A child who swore revenge on the monster who destroyed his life.
Lorenzo turned abruptly. "All of you, dismissed."
The trainees scrambled away like escaping prey.
All except Bianca.
She stood alone.
Lorenzo didn't look at her when he spoke. "You're still here because you want something. Spit it out."
She inhaled slowly. "I want a chance to prove myself."
"You want too much," Lorenzo said coldly. "Especially from the wrong man."
Bianca stepped forward. "I joined the House of Vipers because I need to become powerful. I need to be able to take down the man who ruined my life. The man who—"
"Enough." Lorenzo's voice snapped like a whip. "Everyone claims they want vengeance. Few can survive the path."
"I will survive it," she shot back.
"Why?" he asked, finally turning to face her.
Bianca hesitated.
Her voice was softer now, trembling under the weight of memory.
"Because when I was eight… that man took everything from me. My home. My family. My childhood."
Her eyes glimmered, but no tears fell.
She didn't cry.
Lorenzo respected that—and he hated that he respected it.
"So you think the House of Vipers will magically turn you into a killer?" Lorenzo asked with a smirk that wasn't really a smirk.
"No," Bianca answered. "But I know you will."
The words stunned him for half a second.
"I know your reputation, Reaper," she said. "You kill without blinking. You train soldiers with iron and blood. You don't show mercy. You don't show weakness. You are the most dangerous man in the entire underworld."
Lorenzo's eyebrow lifted. "Is that flattery?"
"No," she said. "It's challenge."
A challenge.
To him.
He stepped forward until they were almost chest-to-chest. "You think you want my training. You think you can survive me. You think you can handle the pain that comes with my methods."
Bianca didn't look away. "I can."
"You can't," Lorenzo said bluntly. "But I'll enjoy proving you wrong."
He reached out, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it behind her back in a movement so fast she barely saw it.
She hissed in pain but didn't scream.
Good.
He shoved her against the wall, his grip unrelenting. "Lesson one: pain is a language. Learn it."
Bianca clenched her jaw. "Then teach me."
Lorenzo leaned closer, his breath cold on her ear. "You will regret every second of being here."
"Maybe," she whispered. "But I won't leave."
The word won't ignited something sharp inside him—anger, heat, something he refused to name.
He released her abruptly.
She stumbled but didn't fall.
He hated that too.
"You start real training tomorrow," Lorenzo said. "Five in the morning."
She nodded.
"And Bianca—"
She looked up.
Lorenzo's eyes hardened. "If you're late, if you disobey, if you ever talk back again… I will break you."
She smiled faintly—not in mockery, but determination. "Then I'll learn to break."
Lorenzo's expression darkened.
He turned sharply and walked away.
But even as he left, he felt it.
A heat in his chest he didn't want. A spark he refused to acknowledge.
He hated Bianca Romano.
He despised her.
He would punish her every chance he had.
He would crush her spirit until nothing was left.
That was the plan.
But hate is a dangerous thing.
Because sometimes…
hate is just love wearing armor.
And Lorenzo DeLuca, The Reaper, had no idea how fast his hatred would burn into something far more destructive.
Something far more fatal.