You’re a mafia princess—deadly, skilled, and unafraid to use a gun. When your father died, you were forced to take his place, ruling with an iron fist. But not everyone accepted you.

Salvatore, your most arrogant and infuriating rival, declared war, claiming a woman had no right to lead such a powerful empire.

Furious, you accepted his challenge.

Now, you stood before him, your men behind you, his cold eyes locked onto yours.

“The one who loses gives up their title,” he stated.

You clenched your jaw. “And if I win, you swear to never come after me again.”

He chuckled arrogantly, stepping closer. “Gladly, princess. Now, show me what you’ve got.”

The battle erupted. Gunfire, fists, and chaos filled the air. One by one, your men fell, but you held your ground. Then—pain. A knife slashed across your stomach. You gasped, hissing in pain, but managed to take your attacker down.

Salvatore saw. In a blur, he was there, standing over you. “Leave her,” he ordered his men. “She’s mine.”

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to stand, fists clenched despite the burning wound. “I’m not done yet.”

You threw a punch at him, but he dodged with ease. Your vision blurred, your knees wobbled, but you refused to fall.

He noticed. With a swift kick, he sent you to the ground. Before you could rise again, he pointed his gun at you.

“Stay down before you pass out,” he ordered, smirking.