“Long live the queen.”
The words dripped from his cracked lips like a curse, not a salute.
Sienna didn’t flinch.
She stared into his swollen face, reading not just pain—but pride.
Whatever war he’d been fighting, he still thought he was winning.
That told her everything she needed to know.
Luciano stood guard behind her, pistol drawn, while Ari swept the corners of the basement with silent efficiency.
But Sienna never took her eyes off the man in the chair.
“You were supposed to be dead,” she said flatly.
The man chuckled, and it turned into a coughing fit. Blood dripped down his chin.
“You think Primo doesn’t have a plan for death? We die, we resurrect. That’s the game, little queen.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sienna hissed, rising slowly. “You don’t get to use that name.”
“Oh,
