The bridge cut through the city like a scar.
Steel and concrete stretching over dark water, dividing two territories that had bled over the years trying to claim each other. No traffic. No lights except the city glow in the distance.
Neutral ground.
He arrived first.
A black car stood parked at the center of the bridge, engine off, headlights dark. He leaned against the hood, alone. No guards. No weapons in sight.
A cigarette burned between his fingers.
Smoke rose slowly, curling into the night air as he stared at the empty road ahead. Calm. Patient. Like a man who had never learned the meaning of fear.
He checked his watch once.
She was late.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Then
The sound of engines.
Low. Controlled. Approaching.
Three black cars appeared from the far end of the bridge, moving in perfect formation. They didn't rush. They didn't hesitate.
They claimed space.
His eyes sharpened.
The cars stopped several feet away from him.
The doors opened.
She stepped out of the middle one.
Black dress.
Sharp lines. Perfect fit.
No softness. No excess.
The wind lifted her hair slightly as she straightened, heels firm against the bridge surface. She didn't scan the area. Didn't search for him.
She already knew where he was.
For a moment—just one—
He forgot the cigarette.
He stared.
Not because she was beautiful though she was.
But because she looked like power given a human form.
She met his gaze without blinking.
Then her bodyguards stepped out two on each side
forming a silent wall behind her.
She raised a hand.
They stopped.
The message was clear.
This was her conversation.
She walked forward alone.
Each step echoed faintly between steel rails and open sky. The city seemed to hold its breath.
He straightened from the car, flicking the cigarette away into the darkness below.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Wind moved between them.
The city watched from a distance.
Then he broke the silence.
"I expected the famous Aria DeLuca to arrive with thunder," he said, voice smooth, almost amused. "But you came like a storm instead. Quiet. Deadly. Beautiful."
She didn't blink.
"Stop," she said flatly. "I didn't come here for compliments."
His lips curved slightly.
"Straight to business. I like that."
"I don't trust men who like too much," she replied.
He chuckled softly, tilting his head toward her bodyguards standing behind.
"Speaking of trust," he said, "you brought an army."
She turned her head slightly, then back to him.
"And you came alone."
He spread his arms lightly.
"Which tells you exactly whose power is stronger."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Don't confuse confidence with control," she said. "You're alone because you believe no one here can touch you."
"And can they?" he asked calmly.
Silence.
Not fear.
Acknowledgment.
He took one slow step closer.
"Don't you know the rule of neutral meetings?" he asked. "No bodyguards. No weapons. Just the two leaders."
"I know the rule," she replied. "I also know rules are made by people who trust each other."
She leaned forward just slightly.
"I don't trust you."
His smile thinned.
"Fair."
Another step closer. Now only a short distance separated them.
"So tell me, Aria," he said quietly. "Why didn't you bring a gun?"
She met his eyes.
"Because if I wanted you dead," she said, "you wouldn't be standing here to ask."
The words hung between them.
Heavy. Cold.
He laughed once low, impressed.
"Dangerous answer."
"I am dangerous," she replied.
For the first time, the air shifted.
Not war.
Not peace.
Something sharper.
He turned slightly, glancing at the dark water below the bridge.
"Let's stop pretending," he said. "I burned your banker because I want the city. All of it. No shared borders. No divided power."
He turned back to her.
"One throne."
Her expression didn't change.
But her voice lowered.
"That throne already has an owner."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And you think I can't take it?"
She stepped closer now. Just one step. But enough to claim space.
"You can try," she said. "But this city doesn't bow to ambition alone. It bows to precision. Patience. Intelligence."
She lifted her chin slightly.
"And you just announced yourself too early."
His eyes darkened, interest sharpening.
"So you think I made a mistake?"
"I think," she said, voice smooth as steel, "that you touched my empire to provoke me… and now you're standing in front of the consequence."
Silence again.
Not awkward.
Electric.
He studied her face. The lack of fear. The lack of hesitation.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"This is going to be interesting," he murmured.
Aria didn't smile back.
"This is going to be war," she replied.
He stepped closer.
Not rushed.
Not aggressive.
Just close enough that the air between them felt thinner.
"You know," he said calmly, eyes steady on hers, "women like you always forget one thing."
She didn't move back.
"Which is?" she asked coolly.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low.
"They look powerful in boardrooms and streets… but they belong in kitchens, not in battlefields."
For the first time, something flashed in her eyes.
Danger.
Before she could answer, he reached out not rough, not forceful catching her wrist lightly, pulling her one step closer. Not dominance.
A test.
The bodyguards shifted instantly.
Aria raised her hand without looking back.
They froze.
Her gaze never left his.
"You should be careful," she said quietly. "You're confusing confidence with ignorance."
He smiled, unfazed by the tension tightening around them.
"Or maybe," he said, "I'm reminding you where power really sits."
She leaned in just enough that he could hear her breath.
"Power," she said, "isn't about where you think someone belongs."
She freed her wrist slowly not pulling away, but turning the movement into her own step forward. Now they stood face to face.
Equal.
"Power," she continued, "is about who survives when the rules burn."
He studied her, eyes dark with something dangerously close to admiration.
"You don't look like someone who knows how to play safe," he said.
"I don't play safe," she replied. "I play to win."
A beat.
Then she smiled.
"So," she added, voice smooth as steel, "let's see who really belongs in the kitchen."
His breath hitched just slightly.
Interest replaced amusement.
"You're saying you'd outlast me?" he asked.
"I'm saying," she replied, stepping past him just enough to brush his shoulder without fear, "that men who underestimate me usually don't live long enough to regret it."
She stopped, turned back, and met his gaze one last time.
"This city isn't your table," Aria DeLuca said.
"And I'm not something you place."
Silence swallowed the bridge.
For the first time, he wasn't smiling.
He was watching her like a man who had just realized
He hadn't met a rival.
He had met his equal.
And somehow…
that made everything far more dangerous.