Her Ruthless Obsession

Chapter 4 – Queen of Blades

Valentina’s POV

There’s a storm brewing.

Not the kind that comes with rain and wind. No, this one is quieter, sharper. The kind that tastes like iron and gunpowder, like blood slicking your tongue before you even feel the cut.

I see it in the way my men linger outside my office longer than usual. The way Carmine avoids eye contact when he sets down my schedule for the day. The way the streets are just a little too quiet tonight, as if the city itself is holding its breath.

War. Dominic said it like a curse, like he’d branded the word into my skin when he whispered it in the dark. And now it’s crawling under mine like fire ants.

Luca Romano wants me dead.

Cute.

I lean back in my leather chair, swirling the last inch of Macallan in my glass. The city bleeds light through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting me in gold and shadow. From up here, everything looks small, the streets like veins, cars like cells moving through them, people like specks. Fragile. Breakable.

That’s how I like them.

But Luca? He’s not a speck. He’s a snake. And snakes don’t strike without venom dripping from their fangs.

I set the glass down and tap my manicured nails against the armrest, thinking.

Dominic.

The name curls in my mind like smoke, leaving a taste I can’t scrub clean no matter how many times I try. What the hell is his game? He walks into my penthouse like a ghost wearing a suit, drops a warning on my lap, and vanishes with that look in his eyes—the one that says he knows more than he should.

And then there’s the other look.

The one that remembers every inch of me under him.

Damn him.

I shove that thought away and pull the laptop closer, fingers flying over the keys as I log into the secure network. I need intel, not distractions. Luca’s movements, his shipments, his meetings. Anything that gives me leverage before the board tips and bodies start piling up.

But before the first file loads, the door bursts open.

Carmine. My right hand. Built like a wall, eyes like coal. He only barges in when something’s bleeding.

“Boss,” he says, voice tight. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” My tone is ice, because panic is for amateurs.

His jaw ticks. “Marco’s crew. They’re late.”

Marco. One of my best soldiers. Reliable as sunrise. If he’s late, it’s because he’s dead—or close to it.

“Where?”

“Warehouse on 54th. The drop was supposed to happen an hour ago.”

I snap the laptop shut and stand, already moving. “Car. Now.”

Carmine hesitates. “Val, it could be a setup—”

“Then let them try,” I cut in, grabbing my coat and the Glock from the desk. “I’m done waiting for Luca to knock on my door. It’s time to knock on his.”

The streets blur past in streaks of neon and shadow as the black Maserati eats the distance between me and the warehouse. Carmine drives like the devil’s chasing us, which is fitting because I feel like hell wrapped in silk tonight.

I check the Glock, slide the magazine in with a satisfying click. I hate surprises. But if this is Luca’s first move, I’m going to make damn sure it’s his last.

“You think it’s him?” Carmine asks, eyes flicking to me in the rearview.

I smirk, cold and sharp. “Who else would have the balls?”

He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t have to. We both know the truth: there’s no one else in this city stupid enough to poke the queen without a death wish.

Ten minutes later, we pull up a block from the warehouse. Dark. Too dark. No headlights, no movement, just the hum of the city in the distance.

“Stay sharp,” I murmur, sliding out of the car. My heels click against the pavement like gunshots as I approach the side door, Carmine a shadow at my back.

The air smells wrong. Like rust and oil and something thicker. Something metallic.

Blood.

I push the door open, slow and silent, and step inside.

The first thing I see is Marco.

Or what’s left of him.

He’s hanging from a hook like a slab of meat, throat slashed open, eyes glassy and wide. Blood pools beneath him, thick and black in the dim light.

Carmine swears under his breath, but I don’t flinch. I can’t. Marco was mine. My soldier. My responsibility. And now he’s a message.

A shadow peels itself from the corner of the room, and I raise the Glock before the bastard even breathes.

“Easy, bella,” a voice purrs, smooth and poisonous.

Luca Romano steps into the light.

He looks like sin in a three-piece suit, slick hair and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes are all teeth.

“Luca,” I say, voice like ice cracking. “You’ve got a f****d-up way of sending invitations.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “You never return my calls.”

“Maybe because I don’t like rats.”

His smile sharpens. “Careful, Valentina. Words like that can get you killed.”

I take a slow step forward, Glock steady. “So can touching what’s mine.”

He glances at Marco’s body, then back at me. “He was a warning. You don’t want to know what happens when I stop being polite.”

I c**k my head, lips curling. “Polite? Hanging one of my men like a Christmas ornament is your idea of being polite?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like Marco’s life meant nothing. “You should’ve taken my offer. We could’ve ruled this city together.”

“I don’t share thrones,” I snap.

His eyes darken, and for a heartbeat, the mask slips. There’s no charm there now, no smooth words. Just hunger. The kind that devours.

“That ledger,” he says softly, and I freeze. “You think you can hide it from me?”

My blood turns to ice.

So that’s what this is about.

He takes a step closer, and for the first time, I smell the truth on him. Desperation.

“You have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with, bella,” he murmurs. “Give me the ledger, and maybe I’ll let you keep breathing.”

I laugh. Sharp. Ruthless. “Over my dead body.”

His smile returns, slow and wicked. “That can be arranged.”

He snaps his fingers.

The doors slam open, and half a dozen men pour in, guns raised.

Carmine moves before I do, firing two shots that drop the first bastard in the doorway. Chaos explodes like thunder, bullets shredding the air as I dive behind a stack of crates, return fire, and curse under my breath.

This isn’t just a message. This is a goddamn declaration.

War isn’t coming.

It’s here.

I empty the Glock, grab a fallen man’s weapon, and keep shooting, the roar of gunfire deafening, the smell of blood and gunpowder choking the air. Carmine’s yelling something—cover, move, now—but all I hear is the pounding in my veins.

One of Luca’s men lunges from the side, knife flashing, and I slam the butt of the gun into his face before putting a bullet through his skull.

When I look up, Luca’s gone.

The snake slipped back into the dark.

But his words linger like smoke.

The ledger.

He knows.

The thought barely has time to settle before I feel it—the cold kiss of steel against the back of my neck.

A voice, low and lethal, breathes against my ear.

“Drop the gun, bella.”

And just like that, the world narrows to a single, jagged edge.

The man holding the blade isn’t Luca. It’s someone else. Someone I didn’t see coming.