CHAPTER 6
Next, she addressed Don Volki Gris of the Wolves, lounging at his table like a man made of whispers.
“Volki… Still hiding behind riddles and masks. But tell me this—when your spies lose their tongues, do they still write poetry, or is the silence your new language?” she asked delicately while cutting her vegetables.
Volki raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk barely there. “Only the loud ones go missing, Doña.”
She moved on without further reply.
Then, after tasting a bite of her meal, Valeria finally turned to the Santiago table again—this time, her eyes settling on Don Santiago, Serena’s father.
Serena’s father didn’t flinch, his hands calmly eating his meal, his dark gaze meeting hers without fear.
Valeria leaned in slightly, her voice soft, dangerous.
“Tell me… do you still believe peace can exist in a world built on blood? Or have your children taught you that something different?”,
Mr Santiago lifted his wineglass, eyes glinting like iron beneath calm waves.
“I don’t seek peace,” he said, voice even, unshaken. “I seek power that doesn’t beg for permission. And my children learn from the best after all—Dõna Valeria”.
A few seated guests exchanged tense glances.
Valeria laughed gently. “Still poetic… Still smart as ever hmm.”
Then, she looked once more at Serena, her gaze lingering just long enough to be felt.
“And you, señorita… If your father falls tomorrow, will you take the throne—or burn it?”
Serena tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “I’ll sit on it… while it’s still on fire.”
Valeria leaned back slowly, her cane resting beside her once again, and took another bite, chuckle at her answer, she turn to her.
“Good,” she whispered. “Let them all burn.”
Across the room, in the farthest corner cloaked in shadows and amber light, a man watched Serena Santiago with careful eyes. He hadn’t laughed when others did. He hadn’t flinched when Doña Valeria asked her questions. He simply watched her like she was the only woman in that hall.
His features were half-lit by the golden flicker of the chandelier. Midnight-black shirt, collar undone, his dark messy hair, bodyguard earphones. A simple black gloved hands. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious, But those who knew, knew: this man did not belong to any of the recognized tables—and that made him dangerous.
He watched as Serena calmly rose, with effortless poise, she dabbed her lips, offered a slight nod to her father, and whispered something to her brother before excusing herself.
The eyes of several guests followed her as she crossed the marble floor toward the hall’s private wing. Some with curiosity while some with contempt.
She didn’t look back.
—
Inside the grand, dimly lit powder room, a circle of elegantly dressed women clustered near the ornate mirror. All daughters or wives of mafia heads, all calculating eyes and tight-lipped smiles.
Serena stepped inside and headed toward the sink, her heels tapping a slow rhythm across the floor.
The room went quiet. She felt it before she heard it—the judgment in the air.
“what she really said ”bored me halfway through dinner” like it was just another Tuesday,” one woman muttered under her breath.
“Typical Santiago arrogance,” another scoffed, adjusting her lip gloss with too much aggression.
“She thinks just because she’s has reached the top now she can speak like that in front of Doña Valeria?” a third hissed. “Please.” In an irritated voice she stare at Serena.
Serena said nothing at first, She merely smoothed the hem of her gown in the mirror, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Calm, Polished and deadly gaze at them through the mirror reflection.
Then came the voice from the doorway—cool, clear, and cutting through the tension like a blade. “Funny. You all whisper about her power like it offends you. Yet none of you carry even half her weight in your own name.”
The women turned, startled. Leaning casually against the doorframe was a young woman in a tailored white attire with a blood-red silk earrings and lip stick. Her presence was sharp and commanding, and the silver scorpion tattoo on her collarbone made one of the girls audibly gasp.
She was Liana Kaine—Evelyn’s only daughter. Known for being unpredictable and fiercely loyal only to those who earned her respect.
She walked toward Serena and offered a sideways glance at the others.
“If you’re going to whisper about a woman,” Liana said coldly, “make sure she’s not the one who can bury you without leaving a single trace.” The women frustratedly left the bathroom, some where even terrified.
Serena gave a small smirk, finally meeting her reflection’s gaze. “Remind me to send you a thank-you card.”
Liana shrugged. “Don’t bother. Just don’t let them make you quiet.”
Serena chuckle softly “Empty brains like theirs don't deserve me to waste my saliva”. She turned to leave, Liana shouted «You didn’t asked for my name, it's Liana».
Outside, in the hall once again, the man in black took a slow sip of his wine.
His eyes followed Serena with new interest as she stepped into another
Serena moved gracefully down the corridor, the soft rustle of her gown echoing in the moonlight silence. The further she walked, the more she realized she’d strayed off the main path. There were no voices. No clinking glasses. No traces of the decadent gathering she'd left behind.
Only silence.
And moonlight—pouring in cold and silver through towering arched windows that lined the hall like cathedral glass. The pale glow danced along the polished floor, illuminating ancient portraits and marble pillars, casting ghostlike reflections of her silhouette in the glass.
She paused, Brows narrowing, she turned slightly. No sound, Yet she felt she wasn’t alone.
Serena exhaled slowly and continued forward with practiced calm, chin high and steps sure.
Then she heard it—casual foot steps that came closer and closer towards her direction…She turned.
He emerged from the shadowed edge of a pillar like a secret long buried: tall, calm, dressed entirely in black. One hand tucked in his pocket, the other hand in black gloves lazily holding a black glove he’d removed.
«Him»
The same man who dared tell her, a few weeks ago with maddening calm:
“You should serve me, Serena.”
He stopped a few steps away, gaze locked with hers, unreadable yet piercing. That lazy confidence in his stance that irritated her the more.
“Well, well…” she said, voice smooth as silk, “look who slithered out of the shadows.. isn't it Mr stalker? ”.
He chuckled lowly. “You always talk like you're trying to wound me with poetry.”
“I find poetry’s better than bullets,” she replied, folding her arms, “though I’m comfortable using both.”
The man’s golden eyes traced her figure with deliberate patience—not lewd, but appreciative, Calculating, Dangerously. He stepped closer but she stepped backwards, his tall overbearing figure made her look so small and that, she didn't like at all.
“You got even sharper,” he said softly. “Didn’t think that was possible.”He chuckled softly with the same cold tone.
Serena arched a brow. “And you still talk like you own the room. The Last time I checked, you were just an uninvited memory.”
He took a slow step forward, into the moonlight. “Uninvited?” he echoed. “Or unforgettable?”
Her lips curved slightly, but there was venom in the sweetness. “Please. The only thing unforgettable about you was your audacity that night.”
“And yet,” he said, now just a breath away, “here you are… standing alone in moonlight, talking to me instead of pretending I don’t exist.”
She was a bit taken back at his response. “You followed me,” she said, eyes flicking down to his handin black gloves, “again. Should I be flattered… or call security?”
“You can do both,” he said, voice low, his eyes scanning her facial expression knowing what she could say next.
She smirked, slowly stepping closer to him, her heels clicking in controlled rhythm as if on a runway made of secrets.
“And you,” she said, coming to stand infront of him, her voice like warm velvet at his ear, “And you're one persistent stalker. But you should know by now—I don’t entertain men who think they can control me as they please”.
He turned to face her fully, slow and steady, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I don’t want to control you,” he said. “I prefer it the other way around Serena.” In his usual cold tone as her stare at her, something in his eyes want her.
For the briefest second, something flickered in her chest. Danger or Temptation. That's impossible she thought to herself as she pull away between fury and fascination.
But Serena Santiago didn’t fall for words—she set them ablaze.
She took a slow step back, eyes glinting. “Well,” she said, brushing past him with a wicked smile, “you’ve had your moment in the dark. Try not to mistake it for intimacy mr stalker .”
Then she simply walked away from his gaze heading to wherever her heels take her, but one thing was sure she was trying to escape the tension she felt at that moment.
He could’ve grabbed her right then—pressed her against the cold stone, kissed the sass right off her lips.
But he didn’t, Because fire that hot wasn’t meant to be rushed. It was meant to be worshipped… and then devoured.
