Sengue E Cenere: Blood and Ash

CHAPTER FOUR: TRAINING

Three Months Later

The knife buried itself in the target's throat—dead center.

"Again," Dante said from behind her.

Mia retrieved the blade and returned to her mark. Threw again. Another perfect hit.

She'd thrown the same knife five hundred times today. Her arm ached. Her shoulders burned. She didn't care.

"Good. Now with your off hand."

The training had been exactly as brutal as he'd promised. She woke at five every morning to run five miles. Then combat training—boxing, Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Then weapons—knives, guns, garrotes, poisons. Then surveillance, hacking, interrogation techniques.

Dante had brought in specialists. A former Mossad agent taught her how to kill silently. A Russian mercenary showed her pressure points and torture methods. A French assassin trained her in seduction and manipulation.

She absorbed it all like a sponge.

Her body had changed too. The constant training and proper nutrition had added muscle to her frame. She was still small, but now she was compact. Dangerous. She could drop a man twice her size in seconds.

"Enough for today," Dante said, checking his watch. "Shower and meet me in the study. We need to finalize your list."

The list. Her revenge list. They'd been compiling it for weeks—every name she could remember, every face that haunted her nightmares.

An hour later, showered and dressed in black tactical pants and a tank top, Mia entered the study. Dante had a file spread across his desk.

"Twelve names," he said. "I've vetted each one. Confirmed locations, habits, security details."

Mia looked at the photos. Twelve faces. Twelve monsters.

"Thomas Garrett," Dante read. "Security guard at the facility. Multiple complaints of abuse that were ignored."

"He liked to use his baton," Mia said flatly. "Started when I was ten."

Dante's jaw tightened, but he continued. "Madame Kira Volkov. Ran the facility. Viktor's cousin."

"She called it 'training.' Said we should be grateful."

"Richard Ashford. State senator. One of the facility's best clients."

"He liked them young. The younger the better."

They went through all twelve names. Guards, clients, administrators, traffickers. Each one had played a role in her hell.

"And at the top," Dante said, pulling out a final photo. "Viktor Kozlov himself."

The man with the silver rings. The man who'd killed her parents. The man who'd built an empire on the suffering of children.

"He's mine," Mia said. "I want him last. I want him to know I'm coming. I want him to be afraid."

"He will be." Dante stood and moved around the desk. "But first, you need to be ready. Truly ready. These aren't just kills, Mia. They're messages. You're going to become a legend in this world. L'Angelo della Morte. The Angel of Death."

"I like that," she said with a dark smile.

He pulled her close, hands sliding down to grip her ass. Their relationship had evolved over the months—still intense, still dark, but deeper now. She craved him. Craved the way he made her feel powerful and desired and dangerous.

"Show me what you've learned," he murmured against her mouth.

Mia pushed him back into his chair and straddled him, already working at his belt. "I learned that power is taken, not given."

"Good girl."

She freed his c**k and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. They both groaned. She'd learned her body over these months—learned what she liked, what made her come, how to use s*x as another form of control.

She rode him hard, hands braced on his shoulders, taking her pleasure. He gripped her hips, helping her move, his eyes dark with lust and pride.

"You're magnificent," he said. "A f*****g goddess of death."

"I'm yours," she countered, leaning down to bite his lip. "Your weapon. Your queen."

"Mia regina," he agreed. My queen. "Now come for me. Show me that fire."

She ground down on him, the angle hitting perfectly. Her orgasm built fast and sharp, and when it hit, she threw her head back and cried out. Dante followed, his fingers digging into her flesh as he came inside her.

Later, lying in his bed—their bed now—Mia stared at the ceiling.

"When do I start?" she asked.

"Next week. We'll begin with Garrett. He's the easiest target. Low security. Predictable habits." Dante traced patterns on her bare shoulder. "But remember—this isn't just about killing them. It's about making them suffer. Making them understand what they did. Making them beg."

"I remember," Mia said softly. "I remember everything."

"Then let's make sure they never forget."