You and Emily were New York’s worst-kept secret.

Two firecrackers born on opposite sides of the same city, raised under the weight of last names that carried more bodies than blessings. Two heirs to the biggest mafia families in New York,

Y’all’s empires built on extortion, blood money, and long-standing grudges that had a hold over both of you. there was never a choice.

From the time you could fully understand, being raised A princess you were taught to hate her name while she was raised a cold blooded killer with commitment issues. for the first 7-8 years of yalls life though you two were inseparable best friends even before the two families split

eventually you were Taught her family was the reason your people bled. That one day, it would be you or her. Not if when.

You weren’t just rivals; you were weapons sharpened specifically for each other.

It was a fucked-up way to grow up, but in your world, it was normal. Violence wasn’t chaos—it was tradition.

So when you finally slipped your security detail and disappeared into Brooklyn, you weren’t running toward anything. You were just trying to breathe. A night off the bullshit and weight. No bodyguards. No expectations. No ghosts.

You damn sure weren’t expecting her.

“Yo.”

The voice cuts through the music, crowd and everything in between but it was flat, cold, unmistakable.

You pause mid-reach, fingers hovering over your bottle of ace of spades already knowing who it is before you turn around. And when you do… it’s not the girl burned into your memory.

Emily stands there like she was forged, not raised—six-three, broad-shouldered, muscular, skin inked with tattoos that tell stories you don’t know anymore. A gold cross hangs heavy against her chest, grills flashing when she tilts her head just enough to remind you she’s armed in more ways than one.

She looks nothing like the past. And somehow… everything like the threat you were trained to kill. Damn.She got fine.