Morning sunlight slid across the marble floors of the Belladonna mansion like a soft caress, warm and golden, dust drifting lazily in the beams. Rose Belladonna stirred beneath her silken sheets, her eyelids fluttering open with the lazy reluctance.
The scent of last night lingered faintly, perfume, sweat, expensive wine, and the subtle musk of bodies pressed together in ways that would make priests weep.
Rose stretched like a satisfied panther, running a hand over her toned stomach. Hard muscle flexed beneath smooth, warm skin. She admired the firmness of her thighs, the softness of her chest, the exact balance of strength and temptation that made men quake and women crave her attention.
She rose from the bed completely nude, unabashed and comfortable in her own perfection. In the wall-length mirror her body shimmered with a sheen of sweat and pleasure.
The fresh tattoo along her ribs, dark Belladonna vines curling into a wicked bloom, caught the morning light.
"Beautiful," she whispered, tracing the flower gently. "Just like me."
A towel slid around her waist as she sauntered into her main bedroom. Sprawled across the enormous bed were the three girls from last night. One face down, one sprawled like a starfish, and one hugging a pillow like it was her last lifeline. They looked adorable, naïve, and entirely exhausted.
Rose approached them with a smirk and gave the nearest girl a sharp slap on the butt.
"Wake up, honey. Time for college."
The girl squeaked and jolted upright, eyes wide. The other two groaned in protest, burying themselves in sheets.
"Rise and shine," Rose drawled. "Your professors won't wait just because you had the night of your life."
Before she could tease them more, someone knocked at her bedroom door.
"What?" she barked.
Marco, the mansion aide, opened the door a crack. He looked like he'd aged ten years trying to maintain composure in this household.
"It is already eight in the morning, Miss Belladonna. Don Vittorio requests your presence at breakfast. He insists all family members attend."
Rose's face twisted. "And you failed to tell me earlier?"
"You instructed me not to disturb you under any circumstances, my lady."
She clicked her tongue with disdain. "Thui. Completely useless."
Marco bowed stiffly. "Yes, my lady."
She pointed at the three disoriented girls. "Make sure they reach college safely. If a man even glances at them wrong, break his nose."
Marco nodded solemnly.
Rose dressed quickly, sliding into black stockings and a fitted dress that hugged her every curve. Her fingers brushed through her thick silver hair, still messy from hours of… activity. With a smirk, she applied crimson lipstick and tucked a cigar behind her ear.
The dining hall was an old-world masterpiece, mahogany polished until it reflected the chandelier lights, and walls lined with paintings of Italian ancestors.
At the long table's head sat her father, Don Vittorio Belladonna, in a charcoal suit tailored to perfection. His silver hair was combed neatly, his dark eyes sharp as razors despite the wrinkles forming around them.
Beside him stood Hans, the family's stoic, ageless butler, whose posture was straighter than most buildings.
"My sweet daughter," the Don said, lifting his gaze to her. "You look lovely today."
Rose leaned close and kissed his cheek. "Good morning, papa."
He took one look at her slightly smudged makeup and messy curls. His eyebrow twitched.
"You must have been… working hard last night."
Rose smiled innocently. "Very hard."
"You waste your nights chasing thrills when you should be thinking about marriage, building stability, and taking on real responsibility."
"I was working on a project."
"A project that involves wine, silk sheets, and young women forgetting their morals?"
Before she could retort, hurried steps echoed from the staircase.
The three girls rushed into the hall, hair tangled, clothes wrinkled, stockings mismatched, lipstick smudged. They looked like chicks tossed through a hurricane.
The Don blinked. Hans coughed softly.
One of the girls waved shyly. "Good morning, sir."
Rose covered her face with her hand.
The Don's voice lowered. "I respect that your tastes are… unconventional. But you cannot feel true love without a man. A husband."
Rose's temper snapped like a whip.
"I do not need a man," she hissed. "I can do anything a man can."
She pushed away from the table and stormed out.
The dining hall fell silent.
Hans leaned slightly closer to the Don. "Her spirit is strong."
The Don closed his eyes briefly. "My health deteriorates every day, Hans. And this girl does not allow my blood pressure to get normal. I hoped she would grow out of this rebelliousness."
"Trust her Sir. She is your daughter. And she is Belladonna born."
Outside, Rose lit a cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily into the crisp morning air. It calmed her nerves, softening the ache her father's words had carved.
"Boss," a quiet voice murmured.
Rose turned.
Lucas Marcone approached, tall and lean, with slick hair and a sly half-grin. He had been under her command for three years. Loyal, smart, reliable most of the time.
"What is it?"
He looked around, lowering his voice. "Something is happening tonight. A secret deal behind our backs. One of your father's men is meeting with the DeLuca family."
"Who?"
Lucas hesitated, then said, "Angelo Carminetti."
Rose's blood chilled.
Angelo, her father's most trusted right hand. A man who had been with the family since before she was born. A man her father trusted more than most blood relatives.
"You are certain?" Rose asked.
Lucas nodded. "I overheard calls. I saw him send his boys to scout."
Rose flicked ash from her cigar. "Tonight we catch this rat."
Lucas looked uneasy. "Shouldn't we tell Don Vittorio?"
"No," Rose said firmly. "Papa needs rest. And I need to prove to him that I can handle our empire."
Lucas nodded slowly. "Then I will follow your lead."
Night in Brooklyn swallowed everything in thick shadows. Fog curled above the streets, mixing with cigarette smoke and the metallic clink of streetcars passing in the distance.
Beneath an abandoned warehouse lay the true beating heart of the borough's criminals, a secret underground boxing ring.
The sound hit her first.
Roaring cheers. Stomping feet. Shouts of gamblers and drunk men. A raw, animalistic energy.
Rose descended the stairs, her silhouette striking.
Cigar between her lips. Slick suit tailored perfectly to her body. Boots clicking sharp as gunshots.
A spotlight cut across her form as she entered.
People whispered.
[That's Belladonna's daughter.]
[She broke a man's jaw last month.]
[She's dangerous. And gorgeous.] [Don't even think, I heard she is a demoness who only like young girls]
Rose ignored the whispers and walked as if she owned the damn place.
Lucas and three of her subordinates followed behind, keeping watch.
She pushed past the crowds, ignoring the men who ogled and women who bit their lips. At the far end lay a velvet-curtained VIP section lit by dim lamps.
They stopped before Booth 5.
Rose opened the door without hesitation.
Inside, Angelo Carminetti lounged comfortably on a plush sofa. His suit was navy blue, He held a glass of red wine. And sitting on his lap was a stunning brunette whose dress barely clung to her shoulders.
Angelo slid his hand out of the woman's blouse slowly, his smirk widening.
"Well, well. The little Belladonna flower," he said. "What brings you here, my dear Rose?"
Rose stepped inside. "Where are the diamonds?"
Angelo kissed the beauty for a little bit too long, then stood up and came before Rose.
"There are no diamonds."
his eyes smirking, "I wanted to kill you for a long time. But hurting the Don's precious daughter would break the code, upset the old man, cause complications. Now, I can blame the DeLuca family. They will arrive soon. They will find your corpse. And your father will believe they killed you."
Lucas and the others stepped behind Rose.
She gave her order calmly. "Teach this bastard some manners."
But the room remained still.
Then Lucas laughed.
He walked to Angelo's side.
Rose froze.
Lucas met her gaze with a mocking smile. "Sorry, boss. My loyalty lies with people who actually care about men."
Angelo clicked his tongue. "It is nothing personal, Rose. You are merely in the way."
The betrayal unfolded like a slow knife twisting deeper, second by second.
Her other subordinates, the men she fed, paid, trusted, shifted behind her. They no longer stood as her protectors but as wolves cornering their prey.
Angelo stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back, like a teacher about to lecture a child.
"You know, Rose," Angelo said softly. "I have been loyal to your father for twenty-seven years. I have bled for him. I have killed for him. I have sacrificed my youth, my dreams, my peace. And after all that, what does he do?"
He leaned close, breath warm and venomous.
"He chooses you."
Rose's jaw clenched.
"He chooses a reckless girl who spends her nights with women, who fights in underground rings, who refuses tradition, who defies every rule this family is built on. The Don would hand our empire to a wild child because she shares his blood, while I, who built this legacy brick by brick, am cast aside."
He gripped her chin harshly.
"I deserved the throne."
Rose spat in his face.
Angelo didn't flinch. He wiped the spit calmly.
"Tie her up."