Queen of Rage.

1. Electric Nights

The air in the club was electric, charged with the promise of danger and indulgence. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, a steady rhythm that pulsed in time with the city’s restless heartbeat. Neon lights painted the crowd in shades of blue and red, flickering across sweat-slicked faces and bodies that moved in chaotic synchronization.

Sloane Gallagher sat in a high-backed leather booth in the VIP section, a glass of champagne in her hand and her sharp eyes scanning the room. To anyone else, she would’ve appeared at ease—a picture of wealth and confidence in her sleek black dress, her long red hair cascading over one shoulder. But inside, she was anything but relaxed.

The weight of her family's reputation pressed down on her like an invisible shroud. She hated these places, but tonight was about appearances. Her father insisted she attend to show the Gallagher family's dominance in the city.

“Cheer up, S,” her friend Delaney said, leaning across the table. Her platinum-blonde hair glimmered in the flashing lights, and her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “You’re making the rest of us look bad with that face.”

“I’m fine,” Sloane replied, forcing a smile.

“You’re lying.” Delaney said knowingly.

Sloane was interrupted by her brother Rowen's arrival. He slid into the booth next to her and stood out in contrast to the chaotic club scene. While others partied, Rowen remained vigilant in his dark suit, scanning for danger.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice low.

Sloane shook her head. “It’s just a regular night.”

“For now,” Rowen muttered, his gaze narrowing on a group of men at the far end of the club.

Sloane's stomach tightened as she followed his gaze. The men stood out from the usual crowd, with a calculated and dangerous energy that didn't fit the hedonistic setting. One of them noticed her looking and smirked, raising his glass in a mock toast.

“Who are they?” she asked.

Rowen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back and tapped his fingers against the table, his jaw tight. Finally, he said, “Santoro men.”

Sloane's pulse quickened as she faced the Santoro family, a long-standing thorn in their side. Tensions had been high and her father had warned them to be vigilant. But encountering them here was unexpected.

"Shall we depart?" Sloane inquired, her voice laced with unease.

Rowen shook his head decisively. "No, that would make us appear weak. Just stay close to me."

Sloane nodded, but her chest felt constricted, like a serpent was coiled inside.

The night dragged on, each minute seeming to stretch into an eternity as Sloane remained hyper-aware of her surroundings. Rowen's protective presence suffocated and comforted her simultaneously.

She finally excused herself to use the restroom, relishing the quiet in the hallway. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief.

"You seem like you could use a drink," a smooth voice remarked.

Sloane's eyes snapped open, locking onto the figure standing a few feet away from her. He was tall, with broad shoulders and Chiseled features that belonged on the cover of a magazine. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, adding to his rugged charm, and his deep brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

"I already have one," she replied coolly, gesturing to the champagne glass in her hand.

He smirked. "Doesn't seem to be helping much."

Sloane raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet," he said nonchalantly, taking a step closer. "Name's Emilio."

"Emilio," she repeated, still wary of this stranger's intentions. "And what exactly do you want, Emilio?"

"Just making conversation," he said casually, leaning against the opposite wall. "You looked like you could use a break from all of... this." He gestured towards the crowded club behind them.

Sloane studied him carefully. There was something about him - an ease, a confidence - that both intrigued and unsettled her.

"Well, thank you for your concern," she said coolly, brushing past him to continue on her way to the restroom.

"I'll see you around," he called after her, his voice lingering in her mind even after she had returned to the booth. She couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.

She wanted to leave. The weight of being the perfect socialite daughter was suffocating her. She secretly planned to sneak away later. Away from her brother and their friends anyplace where she didn’t have to be Sloane Gallagher. "I am more than ready to get out of here," she confided in Rowen.

"Sounds good to me," he replied, his dark eyes scanning their surroundings warily. As Rowen closed their tab.

Sloane walked ahead toward the car, with a need for fresh air. As she slipped out the side entrance, the cool night breeze kissed her flushed skin, offering momentary relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She inhaled deeply, savoring the relative quiet of the alley.

Her moment of peace was short-lived.

"Leaving so soon?" The voice was familiar, tinged with amusement.

Sloane whirled around to find Emilio leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. In the dim light, his features seemed sharper, more dangerous.

"Are you following me?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

Emilio chuckled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you, princess."

The nickname grated on her nerves.

Sloane's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that," she snapped, her emerald eyes flashing with annoyance.

Emilio raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her reaction. He pushed off the wall and took a step closer, closing the distance between them. "My apologies," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I didn't realize you were so sensitive."

Sloane stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm not sensitive. I just don't appreciate condescending nicknames from strangers."

"Fair enough," Emilio conceded, a hint of respect in his tone. He studied her face for a moment, his dark eyes intense. "You're different from what I expected, Sloane Gallagher."

The use of her full name sent a chill down her spine. "You know who I am," she stated, not at all surprised that he had heard of her, just surprised that he said it like it was non consequential.

"Of course I do," Emilio replied, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Just as I'm sure you know who I am."

Sloane's heart raced as the pieces fell into place. The calculated gaze, the dangerous aura, the way he seemed to command attention without effort. "Emilio Santoro," she breathed, the name barely audible.

He inclined his head slightly, confirming her suspicion. "The one and only."

Sloane took an instinctive step back, her mind whirling. She should run, should call for Rowen, should do anything but stand here talking to the heir of her family's greatest rival. But something kept her rooted to the spot, a mix of fear and fascination.

"What do you want?" she asked, proud of how steady her voice remained.

Emilio's smirk softened into something more enigmatic. "Right now? Just a conversation. Is that so hard to believe?"

"With our families' history? Yes, it is," Sloane retorted, her guard still up.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. "Fair point. But maybe it's time for a change, don't you think? The old ways, the constant feuding—it's tiresome, isn't it?"

Sloane hesitated, caught off guard by his words. They echoed thoughts she'd had herself but never dared to voice. "It's not that simple," she said finally.

"It could be," Emilio countered, taking another step closer. He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous. "If we…

“Sloane?” Rowen's voice echoed around the dark, streets that were in front of the club, bouncing off the walls of the alley and dancing around Sloane's ears. She turned her head towards the sound, searching for her brother. As she turned back to tell Emilio that she had to leave, she found him gone.

Taking a deep breathe, Sloane straightened her shoulders and made her way to the mouth of the alley. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she moved with a confidence she didn’t feel.

“Sloane, why were you in the alley? I was looking for you,” Rowen said, his eyes scanning the alley behind her.

"I couldn't stand waiting in that crowded mess any longer," Sloane replied, gesturing towards the chaotic club behind them. "I needed some fresh air and the closest exit was a side door to the alley."

Rowen's brow furrowed with concern. "You shouldn't wander off alone like that. It's not safe."

Sloane felt a flicker of irritation at his overprotectiveness, but she knew he was right. The encounter with Emilio had rattled her more than she cared to admit. "I know, I'm sorry. I just needed a moment."

Rowen nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Let's get you home."

As they walked to the waiting car, Sloane couldn't shake the feeling of Emilio's eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him lurking in the shadows, but the alley remained empty.