QUEEN 👑 OF THE UNDERWORLD

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST LESSON

Morning didn’t feel like morning anymore. It felt like a continuation of the night that refused to end, a slow, suffocating reminder that everything I had known was gone. I hadn’t slept. Not even for a second. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father on the floor, blood spreading beneath him, his chest rising and falling until it didn’t. I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of Dante’s penthouse, my knees pulled close to my chest, watching the city wake up beneath me. People moved like nothing had changed, like the world hadn’t shifted on its axis overnight. That was the truth about power, it could collapse in silence while everything else carried on as if it never existed. I wasn’t part of that world anymore. I couldn’t be. The girl who belonged there had died last night.

“You didn’t sleep.” Dante’s voice broke through the quiet behind me, calm and observant. I didn’t turn around. “Neither did you,” I replied, my eyes still fixed on the streets below. I heard his footsteps as he moved closer, stopping a few feet away. “Sleep is a luxury,” he said. “One you can’t afford anymore.” I let out a quiet breath, not disagreeing. “Then neither can you.” There was a brief pause, and I felt his gaze linger on me. “I already gave it up,” he said simply. That answer told me more about him than he probably intended. Dante wasn’t someone who adapted to this world. He was someone who had been shaped by it completely.

I finally turned to face him, pushing myself up slowly despite the stiffness in my body. “You said training starts today,” I reminded him. “So what’s the first lesson?” His eyes scanned me carefully, taking in my posture, my expression, the exhaustion I refused to show. “Control,” he said. I frowned slightly. “Control what?” “Everything,” he replied. “Your emotions, your reactions, your instincts. Last night, you survived because of anger and luck. That won’t happen again.” His words were blunt, but they didn’t offend me. They grounded me. “So what?” I asked. “I’m supposed to stop feeling?” He shook his head slightly. “No. You’re supposed to stop letting your feelings control you.”

I crossed my arms, studying him. “That’s easier said than done.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “That’s why most people fail.” Before I could respond, he walked past me toward a sleek table near the center of the room. A gun rested on it, black, polished, deadly. My eyes locked onto it instantly. He picked it up and turned back to me, holding it out. “Take it.” I hesitated for only a second before stepping forward and wrapping my fingers around the handle. It was heavier than I expected. Colder too. I had seen guns my entire life, but I had never held one like this before. Not like it meant something. Not like it was mine.

“Do you know how to use it?” Dante asked. I shook my head. “No.” “Good,” he said. “Then you won’t have bad habits.” I raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s your version of reassurance?” “That’s reality,” he replied. He stepped closer, adjusting my grip with precise movements. “Your hand stays firm. Your finger doesn’t touch the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. And when you do…” His voice lowered slightly. “You don’t hesitate.” The weight of his words settled into me as much as the weight of the gun in my hand. This wasn’t practice. This wasn’t a game. This was survival. This was power.

“Point it at me,” he said suddenly. I froze. “What?” “Point it at me,” he repeated, his tone calm, unwavering. “You said you wanted revenge. This is where it starts.” My grip tightened slightly as I looked at him. “You’re serious.” “Completely.” My heart began to pound again, not from fear exactly, but from the intensity of the moment. Slowly, I raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. My hands didn’t shake. That surprised me. What did shake was something deeper, something internal. A line I had never crossed before. Dante didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” I said, my voice steady. “Why not?” he pressed. “Because you’re helping me.” His eyes darkened slightly. “And what happens when the person standing in front of you isn’t?” he asked. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because I knew what he was trying to do. He wasn’t asking me to shoot him. He was asking me to confront something much bigger, the hesitation that could get me killed. “Pull the trigger,” he said again. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. My finger hovered just outside the trigger guard. “I can’t,” I admitted quietly.

Dante stepped closer, closing the distance between us until the gun was pressed lightly against his chest. “That hesitation,” he said, his voice low and sharp, “will get you killed.” His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unrelenting. “Your enemies won’t hesitate. Marco didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger without a second thought.” My chest tightened at the mention of his name, anger flaring again. “Then use that,” Dante continued. “Use that anger. Focus it.” My breathing slowed slightly as I stared at him, my grip on the gun tightening. I pictured Marco. His calm expression. The way he spoke. The way he killed my father like it meant nothing.

Something inside me shifted.

My finger moved.

Click.

The empty sound echoed in the room.

No bullet.

Dante didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

But something in his eyes changed.

Approval.

“You hesitated,” he said. “But you still pulled the trigger. That’s progress.” My chest rose and fell slowly as I lowered the gun, my hand suddenly feeling heavier than before. “There were no bullets,” I said quietly. “Of course not,” he replied. “If there were, you would’ve killed me, or proved you weren’t ready.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “So this was a test.” “Everything is a test,” he said. “And you just passed your first one.”

I looked down at the gun in my hand, my reflection faintly visible in its surface. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. She looked… different. Not stronger yet. Not fully changed. But not weak either. Not broken. Just… unfinished. “What happens next?” I asked. Dante took the gun from me and set it back on the table. “Next,” he said, “you learn how to think like them.” I frowned slightly. “Like who?” His expression hardened. “Like the people who took everything from you.” A chill ran through me, but I didn’t look away. “And how do I do that?” I asked.

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping slightly. “You stop seeing the world the way you used to,” he said. “There is no right or wrong. No good or bad. There is only power… and those who have it.” The words settled heavily in my mind, reshaping something deep inside me. “And what about the people who don’t?” I asked. His gaze didn’t waver. “They become victims.” Silence fell between us as the truth of that sank in. Slowly, I nodded. I understood now. Maybe not completely. But enough to know that there was no going back.

Dante turned away slightly, walking toward the window I had been sitting by earlier. “You have potential,” he said without looking at me. “But potential means nothing without discipline.” I crossed my arms, watching him. “Then I’ll learn,” I said. “Whatever it takes.” He glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. “Careful,” he said. “People who say that usually don’t understand the cost.” I held his gaze, my voice steady. “I already paid the highest cost.” For a moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded once, slowly. “Good,” he said. “Because this is only the beginning.”

And as I stood there, in a place that wasn’t home, with a man I barely knew, holding onto a future I didn’t fully understand, one thing became clear to me. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was about transformation. About becoming something capable of surviving, and ruling, a world that had already tried to destroy me. And I would not fail. Because failure meant death. And I wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not until I made them all pay.