A REFORGED KINGDOM

Smoke still curled from the charred windows of the northern estate as the clean-up crew approached. Luca at the cliff's edge, the dawn breaking first through the icy fog. Arms crossed behind him in their gloves, the rear of his greatcoat flapping open in the wind. Roared beneath him in the sea—untamed and free, like the world they would be facing now. Bianca followed at his heels, fogging the air with breath. Her hair was tucked away beneath a cap of black, face hidden as she looked out over the horizon through her eyes. "Think it's really over?" Luca didn't glance back at her. "For Adraine and Sophia… yeah. For us? Just beginning." So then Raphael went, holding in his hand a bulky folder and winching at every movement. "More. Interceptions from Sophia's second and Moroccan syndicate. They were constructing an international pipeline—drugs, weapons, even people trade. If they'd been successful, we would not have lost only our throne. We'd have lost the planet." Bianca extended her hand, flicking through the pages. "She wanted to bring everything to ashes. To crown herself with an ash upon her head." Luca turned to him over his shoulder, his own face somber. "That sort of power does not stop with Sophia dead. Already the vultures begin to circle, scenting their opportunity." Raphael stepped forward. "One or two little families already made a move to make a power play on the southern piers. And the Eastside Families are questioning your leadership, Bianca." "I might have predicted it," she growled. "They always enjoyed Sophia's thug ways of ruling. But I am not she. I can never be." "That is the same reason that you will do better," Luca stated, his tone confident. They came back to the estate—now war-shattered shell. But Luca's forces poured in already, taking over rooms, booting up systems, inch by inch. Use this as our ad hoc HQ, Luca growled. "The mountain gives us defense on three quadrants. Bunker the vaults, reroute the defense grid, clear the last vestiges of Sophia's network." "Aye, boss," Enzo said, emerging out of one of the side corridors, his collar stained with blood but his eye flashing with a hunger to eat. Bianca followed Luca into the large hall, the floor of which bore witness to evidence of treachery. She looked around the room where Sophia was last evening standing. "You were right," she breathed. "It was not mere revenge.". Luca leaned back in the tattered leather high-back throne chair, one gripped by dictators before him. Elbows he rested on the desktop. "Now we have rebuilding. Legacy. The mafia criminal underworld demands stability, not anarchy. You and I—we provide that. United." She moved in toward him, arms folded. "You actually think we can do it all over again? Everything after all we've lost?" He faced her, his eyes stern. "We didn't lose anything, Bianca. We lost the dead weight. This is the beginning." She retreated a step. "Then shut up the Eastside. And the Vatican rumors. And the Black Serpent Cartel of Spain. They were doing business with Sophia, and she was alive." "Then we go to them," Luca said. "Not with threat-but with strength." Bianca's solitary eyebrow rose. "Diplomacy? "Bull in a suit," Luca amended. "With the right leverage, even snakes can be charmed." They were interrupted by a knock. Raphael came back, this time with a laptop and two photographs. "We have a problem," he said curtly. "Sophia's assassination didn't kill her campaign—it dissolved a hundred very ugly men and women she owed money to, and now they're making their own deals." He slapped the screen open wide. A newsflash showed a burning waterfront warehouse. "This was ours. Taken by an outlaw gang named the Crimson Rings. Ex-military, ex-cartel, well-armed and ruthless." Bianca's face went cold. "She left a hydra. Lop one head off, and two grow." "We look out for all of them, then," Luca said. "We send a message to the underworld regarding Sophia's murder—that any hot air bag who tries to replace her stilettos and gets in over his or her head will be six feet under.". Two weeks later, Luca and Bianca encountered the Eastside Families in a dimly lit marble room. Seven big house bosses filled a crescent of leather chairs, eyeing the couple with courteous suspicion. Don Viscari, wisest and oldest, smiled as he fastened his silver cufflinks. "We feel your pain, Bianca. Your sister was. volatile, but zealous. And anger makes noise." Bianca's position never wavered. "Anger can shout as loud as it desires. But if it is out of respect, then it collapses." "And what would you offer us in exchange for our loyalty?" House Volante's Madam Carla inquired. Luca moved forward, his face unchanging. "We bring order. Stability. The ports will open up again, but tight security only. The south trade roads are ours again. You will get your share—unequal and untouched. But oppose us, and bullets are not what you ought to fear. It's oblivion." There was grumbling. Viscari smiled on a dry note. "You sound like Sophia." "No," said Bianca. "We don't sound new. We don't rule through terror. We rule through strategy." "And fire," Luca added. "Where necessary." Viscari finally nodded. "Alright. We'll take your offer into consideration. But you'll have to do something about the Crimson Rings. Their leader—Santo Vega—was seen in Barcelona, buying chemical weapons." Bianca furrowed his brow. "Then it's high time we go to Spain." --- Barcelona was in chaos. The Red Rings had established themselves in a cathedral fortress shadowing the edge of the town, defended by battle-hardened snipers in retirement and studded with trip mines. The team employed all their skill that they'd learned as thieves. Bianca glided in for herself-sudden as a ghost through shattered jagged stained glass. Luca and Raphael brought up the rear, dispatching guards with noiseless blades. Santo Vega stood in the center of the sanctuary-tall, scarred, in ceremonial white. Bomb boxes and steel drums of poison with painted skulls lined the room, clustered around him. "You're late," he wheezed. Bianca stepped forward into the light. "You've been hijacking my ports. Killing my men. I shouldn't have come so late." Vega smiled. "You don't own anything, princess. Sophia promised us power. And now she's dead. That means anarchy." "No," Luca, with a gun. "It means chance." Bullets zipped past. The hallway was a chaos of bullets and splintered pews. Raphael hurled a grenade into the east alcove, and the blast sent Vega's men to the ground. Vega rushed Bianca through the smoke with a serrated knife—but faked, struck his knee inward, and slashed his throat with her blade. He collapsed, choking on blood. Luca stepped up beside her, gun still warm. "You okay?" Bianca wiped her blade clean. 'I'm better than alright." They stood in the ashes of a stolen cathedral, victorious. --- At the estate, just before dawn gilded the cliffs, Luca sat in his study, writing a decree—a coded letter to be sent through every channel of the underworld. Bianca stumbled in, bruised but alive. "The docks are ours. Eastside Families are holding their own. And Vega's death got swept under by half the underworld bloggers." Luca's hand clenched over the letter. "Then we're back in charge." She sat in front of him, still. "Do you ever think… how far we'll go?" He gazed at her, his eyes warming. "Every day. But I do know this: I'd burn a thousand kingdoms to ashes before I lose you." Bianca leaned forward across the desk, her hands touching his. "Then let's build a larger one. One our enemies will fear—and our people will trust." Luca's lips curved into a smile. "A kingdom reborn." Their hands enclosed each other. The war was over. But their reign was only just beginning.