THE ART OF WAR
828 Words
Sienna had seen death before.
But never like this.
Never with a man’s blood still warm on the marble floor, his body twitching with the last echoes of life.
Never with her own name tangled in the violence, her presence forced into the scene as if it were an initiation.
Luca stood unmoved, a king in his kingdom of brutality.
“Take him away,” he ordered, his voice disturbingly casual.
His men moved like a well-rehearsed machine.
One lifted Marco’s lifeless body by the shoulders, the other by the ankles, and within seconds, the remnants of Luca’s lesson were gone.
But the blood remained.
Sienna’s pulse roared in her ears as she forced herself to breathe.
The metallic scent clung to the air, the stain of crimson smeared into the pristine white marble like a wound that would never quite heal.
She had been dragged into Luca’s world kicking and screaming, but tonight, for the first time, she realized—
There was no way out.
“Are you going to faint?” Luca’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts.
Sienna blinked and snapped her gaze to him.
“No.”
Something flickered in his eyes—approval, amusement, something sharper.
He took a slow step forward, his presence pressing into her space like a shadow stretching beneath a setting sun.
“Good,” he murmured. “I don’t have time for delicate creatures.”
Sienna clenched her jaw, the heat of humiliation crawling up her spine.
“You think this makes you powerful?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended but sharp enough to land the hit.
“Killing men already on their knees?”
Luca smirked. “No, princess. Power is making sure no one dares to stand in the first place.”
She hated how effortless his words were, how unshaken he was by the weight of his own cruelty.
But she wouldn’t cower.
“And what am I supposed to be?” she challenged, chin tilting up. “Another corpse on your floor? Another message carved into someone else’s ruin?”
Luca studied her for a long moment.
Then, with unnerving ease, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“You,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “are the warning before the war.”
Sienna was returned to her room like a prisoner escorted to her cell.
She expected to crumble.
To fall apart the moment the door closed behind her.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Instead, she paced.
Every step was a battle against the thoughts clawing at her mind.
Every breath was a war against the fury curling beneath her ribs.
Luca thought he owned her.
Thought she was some fragile thing to be broken and shaped into whatever served him best.
But he underestimated the art of endurance.
Sienna had been surviving long before he had decided to steal her life.
She knew men like him.
Men who thought they were gods, untouchable in their cruelty, invincible in their power.
Men who believed control was absolute.
But every kingdom had its weakness.
Every king had his downfall.
She just had to find Luca’s.
And when she did, she would not hesitate to burn his empire to the ground.
The next morning, a knock at her door startled her from sleep.
She hadn’t meant to sleep.
Hadn’t meant to let exhaustion win.
But now, as the early morning light bled through the curtains, reality came crashing back in.
“Get dressed,” a voice called from the other side. “You’re having breakfast with the boss.”
Sienna exhaled sharply.
So the game continued.
Luca was already seated when she entered the grand dining room.
The table stretched long, an elegant display of fresh fruit, croissants, and expensive coffee that looked almost absurd given the events of last night.
He glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. “Sit.”
Sienna didn’t hesitate.
Not because she obeyed him.
But because every move she made now had to be deliberate.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, the silver spoon clinking softly against porcelain.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
Sienna met his gaze. “Because my father was weak.”
Luca smirked. “Correct.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lazily against the table.
“And what do you plan to do with that knowledge?”
Sienna’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to match his calm. “Learn.”
Luca arched a brow.
“Learn what?”
She picked up her fork, slicing into the soft flesh of a croissant, her movements precise, measured.
“The rules of your game.”
Silence stretched between them, the weight of her words settling like a well-played move on a chessboard.
Then Luca chuckled.
“Careful, princess,” he murmured. “You might actually survive here.”
Sienna smiled.
“I intend to.”
- Writer
