Episode 10:When Queens Break
1017 Words
There are sounds you never forget.
A heartbeat under fire.
A scream muffled by smoke.
And the whisper of death… when it finally chooses someone you love.
That sound followed Aria Moretti into the cold, grey dawn.
The city looked dead from the rooftop. No traffic. No movement. Just fog curling like ghosts between buildings.
And blood—on her hands.
Not hers.
Mira’s.
---
It started with a message.
Simple. Deceptive.
"Meet me at the safe house. Come alone. URGENT."
It came from Mira’s number.
Mira—the only person who had followed Aria since the beginning. Her childhood best friend. Her most trusted guard. Her chosen sister.
Aria didn’t question it. She didn’t hesitate.
She went.
Damien tried to stop her. “It smells wrong.”
But Aria snapped, “If it were me, she’d come running too.”
And that was the last time she saw Mira alive.
---
The safe house was dark. Cold. Silent.
Aria called her name.
“Mira?”
No answer.
She moved room by room, gun drawn, heart in her throat.
Then she saw it.
Blood.
Smeared on the wall. A trail.
She followed it. Down the hallway. Through a shattered door.
And there—on the floor—was Mira.
Tied. Gagged. Bleeding from the side.
Still breathing.
Barely.
Aria dropped to her knees, ripped the gag off.
“Mira! Look at me!”
Mira’s eyes fluttered open. “You… shouldn’t have come…”
Aria tried to untie her, hands shaking.
“We’ll get out,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
“No,” Mira rasped. “He’s… here…”
That’s when Aria heard it.
The slow clap.
Behind her.
She turned.
Malik.
Immaculate. Calm. A glass of wine in hand.
“You came alone,” he said. “Predictable.”
Aria aimed her gun. “I’ll kill you.”
“You won’t,” he replied, stepping closer. “Because if you shoot me now, my men shoot her.”
He pointed to the one-way mirror behind her.
Inside, she saw them. Two men. Rifles trained.
Mira was the bait.
Aria was the trap.
She lowered the gun.
“You want to kill me?” Malik asked. “Why? Because I’m better at this than your father was?”
“You killed my best friend.”
“She’s not dead yet.”
He set his wine down.
“But she will be,” he added, “unless you accept my offer.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “You want a truce?”
“No,” he said. “I want your surrender.”
Aria laughed—bitter, breathless. “You still don’t get it.”
She raised her gun again and pointed it directly at Mira.
Malik blinked. “What are you doing?”
“You said if I shot you, she dies.” Aria’s voice was steel. “You never said what happens if I do it.”
Mira’s eyes widened. “Do it,” she whispered. “End it.”
Malik looked uncertain for the first time.
“Walk away,” Aria hissed, “or I’ll take your last move and burn it down in front of you.”
He stared at her. Calculating. Cold.
Then—he turned and left.
She rushed to Mira, cradling her.
“You’re okay,” Aria whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
But Mira shook her head, blood staining her lips.
“I’m not.”
Aria held her tighter. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m sorry,” Mira said, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for this.”
“Shut up. You’ll be fine. We’ll get out.”
But Mira reached up, cupped Aria’s face, and smiled softly.
“Protect them… like you did me.”
Then her hand fell.
And the light went out of her eyes.
---
That night, it rained.
And Aria didn’t speak.
Not during the ride back.
Not when Damien carried her upstairs.
Not when the team begged for orders.
She sat in the shower, fully clothed, the water washing Mira’s blood down the drain.
Hours passed.
Damien finally entered. Silent. Patient.
“I should’ve listened to you,” she whispered.
“I should’ve gone with you,” he said.
She turned to him.
And in her eyes… something had died.
“Bury her in silk,” she said. “And surround her in steel. Anyone who touches her memory dies.”
Damien stepped forward. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call everyone,” Aria said. “Every ally. Every gun. Every whisper.”
She stood. Drenched. Fierce.
“We’re going to war.”
---
The next day, she burned the safe house down.
Not as revenge.
As a message.
A symbol.
This is where kings fall.
---
Later, as she walked the halls of her new stronghold, Aria passed her crew—loyalists sharpening knives, loading guns, carving her crest onto their gear.
Her crest.
The Black Crown.
Forged in vengeance. Worn by fire.
Isabella met her in the war room.
“Everyone’s asking one question,” she said.
“Ask it.”
“Who are you planning to kill first?”
Aria stared at the map.
Then pointed.
“Malik’s safehouse in Montauk. Tonight.”
“That’s suicide.”
“No,” Aria said coldly. “It’s prophecy.”
Isabella smiled. “I liked Mira.”
“So did I.”
“Then let’s make them regret it.”
---
That night, before she left, Damien found her on the balcony.
The city pulsed below.
“You’re not the same,” he said.
“No. I’m worse.”
He stepped closer. “I’m with you. No matter what.”
She turned to him. Her lips found his. Hungry. Hollow.
“I might not come back,” she whispered.
“Then I’ll meet you in hell.”
She kissed him again—deeper. Longer. As if trying to brand his mouth into memory.
And when she pulled away, her eyes were pure flame.
“This time, Damien?” she said.
“I am the fire.”
- Writer
