The vipers kiss

The Viper’s Kiss Chapter One — The Funeral Deal The skies bled grey over New York as the black procession snaked its way to Santino Chapel, the rain falling in thin, precise needles that glistened off polished cars and grief-starched suits. Aria Leone adjusted her veil, her pulse drumming in her ears as the city she once called home swallowed her whole. She hadn’t stepped foot on these streets in six years—not since that night her father, Giovanni Leone, had been gunned down outside his estate, his body left cooling on stone steps slick with blood. They had called it an internal dispute. An unfortunate accident in the ever-fractured crime world. But Aria knew better. Her father had been murdered—betrayed—and someone inside the Moretti empire had orchestrated it. Today, she was done hiding. The funeral was for Emilio Costa, her father’s old associate, a man tangled in enough dirty dealings to stain three generations. He was the last thread connecting her to this world—and now he was dead too. Coincidence? No such thing. Aria blended into the stream of mourners, the weight of black fabric pooling around her legs. Her heels clicked softly on the marble as she entered the chapel, the air heavy with incense and whispered lies. The sanctuary was a fortress disguised as a place of mourning—shoulders squared, eyes sharp, bodyguards flanking every corner. Politicians, kingpins, and the criminal elite filled the pews. But only one man commanded the room. Dante Moretti. Aria’s breath snagged in her throat when she saw him—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a flawless black suit that hugged his frame like armor. His dark hair was slicked back, sharp jaw clean-shaven, and those eyes… merciless, shrewd, scanning the room like a predator hunting weakness. She’d memorized his face from old photographs, from grainy security footage the night her world fell apart. Dante Moretti. Heir to the Moretti empire. The Viper. A man whispered about in every corner of the underworld. Brilliant. Calculating. Cold as steel, with a reputation for dismantling rivals before breakfast and seducing their daughters by sundown. The empire her father had helped build, the empire that bled her family dry, now sat under his iron control. Aria slipped into a pew, keeping her head bowed, her heart thrumming beneath the lace of her veil. She wasn’t here for grief. She was here to infiltrate, to gather intel, to get close enough to twist the dagger back into the heart of the machine that destroyed her father. Her new identity was flawless: Aria Santoro, distant European relative, recently returned, unassuming enough to slip beneath the radar but polished enough to pique curiosity. The funeral service blurred behind the sharpness of her focus. Latin prayers, the hollow ring of eulogies, the click of expensive shoes on marble. But beneath the surface, the real ceremony unfolded—the tense shuffle of power brokers, whispers of loyalty traded like currency, and the pulse of danger that never left the underworld. Fragments of conversation floated her way: “Costa’s death leaves a vacuum—the Moretti boy’s going to make his move.” “They say Costa was sick… but nobody dies clean in this business.” “The Viper strikes fast when weakness shows.” The Viper. That nickname coiled around Dante’s reputation like a brand—beautiful, venomous, and always watching. Her fingers tightened on her clutch. A man like Dante would never mourn Costa. Men like him didn’t mourn at all. The service ended, the polished casket swallowed by the earth outside. Security cordoned the steps, photographers flashing like lightning as expensive cars lined the curb. And then, his eyes found hers. The force of it stole her breath—a slow, deliberate sweep of dark eyes meeting hers across the marble courtyard. Calculating. Predatory. Intrigued. Aria’s pulse stumbled. Stay calm. Play the part. But he was already moving—cutting through the crowd with quiet authority, bodyguards parting like shadows. His presence radiated power, dangerous and magnetic. Up close, he was worse. His tailored suit molded to every inch of lethal muscle, and that sharp jawline could’ve been sculpted from stone. His cologne—something dark, expensive—coiled around her like smoke. “You’re not from here,” Dante remarked, voice low and smooth as whiskey. Aria tilted her head, keeping her expression cool. “Neither are half the people here.” His lips curled faintly, amused by the deflection. “But I know their names. Their faces. You’re new.” “Aria Santoro,” she replied evenly, offering her hand, veiled fingers delicate against his rough palm. His handshake lingered, firm but not crushing, the contact charged with unspoken challenge. “Family of Costa?” Dante asked. “Distant. European branch,” she lied, flawless. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if filing her name away in some mental ledger of debts and threats. But interest flickered beneath the suspicion. “Beautiful,” he noted, gaze dipping to her mouth, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips. “Dangerous timing, arriving now.” Aria smiled softly. “Sometimes timing is everything.” For a heartbeat, the world fell silent—the rain softening, the crowd blurring. Only the two of them remained locked in the dangerous push and pull. Dante leaned in slightly, voice a velvet threat. “You planning to stay long… Miss Santoro?” “Depends,” Aria countered, chin lifting, “on whether I feel… safe.” That earned a quiet laugh, deep and dark. He straightened, stepping back but never breaking eye contact. “Come to my club. Tonight.” It wasn’t a question. Aria’s heart twisted. Faster than expected, but opportunity often wore sharp edges. She nodded, the picture of cautious curiosity. “I wouldn’t miss it.” With that, Dante turned, slipping back into the sea of tailored suits, his guards closing ranks. But his eyes—those cold, sharp eyes—never left her. The moment he disappeared, Aria exhaled, pulse rattling. The game had begun. She’d seduce his trust. She’d uncover the truth. She’d find the killer who shattered her family—and if the Viper himself stood in her way, she’d strike where it hurt most. She was done running.