Episode7:The Queen’s Move
1168 Words
Aria never used to like mirrors. They showed too much. The fear in her eyes. The guilt on her skin. The cracks she couldn’t hide.
But tonight? She owned the mirror.
She stood in front of it like a weapon. Red silk clung to every curve of her body, slit up one thigh, low enough in the back to make even the bravest man lose focus. Her hair flowed in loose waves, her makeup sharp, and her lips painted in blood-red defiance.
Tonight wasn’t just another event.
It was a test.
A private gala thrown by the Bratva—hosted by Dmitri Ivanov himself. And every enemy she had would be watching her. Waiting for her to slip. To bleed. To fail.
They’d wait forever.
Damien stood in the doorway behind her, arms folded, wearing a tailored black-on-black suit that made him look like the devil dressed for church.
“Are you sure you want to walk into the Bratva’s den?” he asked.
She didn’t look at him. Just reapplied her lipstick slowly, like armor.
“I’m not walking in,” she said. “I’m ascending.”
He chuckled darkly. “God help them.”
She turned to him. “Don’t need God. I’ve got a knife, a motive, and the ghosts of everyone who underestimated me.”
He crossed the room, leaned in, and kissed her neck. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Don’t tempt me. We’re already late.”
“Let them wait,” he murmured against her skin.
She bit back a smile. “No. Tonight… I want to be seen.”
---
The gala was held in a converted cathedral in Brooklyn. Marble floors. Gold accents. Music soft enough to make you forget the room was filled with killers in tuxedos.
Aria walked in on Damien’s arm, and the world slowed around them.
Heads turned. Whispers started.
There she was.
The girl who’d carved a threat into Marco’s neck.
The woman who danced with power and didn’t flinch when it turned sharp.
She was no longer the daughter of a king.
She was the one people feared might take his throne—and turn it into something far more dangerous.
“Aria,” a voice drawled behind her.
She turned.
Dmitri Ivanov. Towering. Thick accent. And a look that said he was imagining her blood on the marble.
“You look like a promise no man should trust,” he said.
She smiled. “That’s the idea.”
He offered his arm. “Dance with me.”
Damien stiffened beside her.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, slipping her hand from his grasp. “Let him make his move.”
She let Dmitri lead her to the floor.
The dance was slow. Tense. His hand heavy on her waist.
“You’ve made noise,” he said. “Impressive. Dangerous.”
“I plan to make more.”
“You know what they say about girls who get too loud?”
“They end up running the world.”
He chuckled. “Your father once promised me power. Then betrayed me.”
“Then maybe he taught me well.”
He twirled her, leaned close. “You don’t belong here, girl.”
“You’re right,” she whispered back. “I belong above you.”
That made him stop.
For a brief second, silence. Then applause as the song ended.
She walked away, not looking back.
---
Upstairs, in the cathedral's old priest chambers, a hidden meeting was waiting for her.
Lucien.
He stood at the window, cloaked in shadow, dressed in charcoal and mystery.
“You’re brave,” he said as she entered.
“No,” she replied. “I’m angry.”
“I like angry.” He turned to face her. “It makes you bold.”
“What do you want, Lucien?”
He held out a glass of wine. She didn’t take it.
He smirked. “Smart.”
“I’m done playing by other people’s rules,” she said.
“Then make your own.”
“Isn’t that what you want? To use me to finish my father’s legacy?”
Lucien moved closer. “No. I want you to erase it.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“Your father wasn’t the king. He was the gatekeeper. He built the Game to control the families—but someone else… something else… controlled him.”
“Who?”
Lucien smiled.
And then the door creaked open.
Another man entered.
Aria’s breath caught.
He was older. Handsome. Cold. And familiar.
Malik Reznov.
Lucien bowed his head. “Aria, meet the man who funded the Game of Blood.”
She stared. “My father never mentioned you.”
“He wouldn’t,” Malik said in a low, elegant tone. “Because he owed me everything.”
Aria took a step back. “Why am I here?”
“To choose,” Malik said. “I want to offer you something.”
“A deal?”
“No,” he said. “A crown.”
She froze.
“I have power the families have only tasted. Influence that doesn’t depend on bloodlines or money. I want to share it—with you. But only if you walk away from Damien. From your father’s memory. From the Game as you know it.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re not corrupt… yet.”
She swallowed.
“And if I say no?”
Lucien spoke. “Then we destroy you.”
For a moment, silence.
Then Aria laughed.
A low, dangerous, beautiful sound.
“You think threats will make me flinch?” she said, stepping forward. “I’ve been groomed by grief, trained by betrayal, and kissed by men who kill for fun.”
She faced Malik.
“You want my soul? Too late. The Game already took it.”
She turned to leave.
“Aria,” Lucien said. “You’re powerful. But alone, you won’t survive.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“I don’t plan to survive,” she whispered. “I plan to win.”
---
Outside, rain had started to fall again.
Damien waited by the car, eyes searching her face.
“Bad news?” he asked.
She kissed him hard, breathless. “Not yet.”
“Did you see Lucien?”
“I saw more than that.”
They slid into the back seat. She climbed onto his lap, lips tracing his jaw.
“We might not have time,” he muttered.
“Then make it quick.”
Her dress hiked up as his hands gripped her thighs. Their mouths clashed, fast and hungry. She pulled his belt open with practiced ease. His breath hitched.
She bit his lip, whispered against it, “I need to forget what I just heard.”
“I’ll help you,” he growled.
And he did.
Right there in the back seat, as the storm swallowed the city and the Game of Blood reset itself behind closed doors.
- Writer
