Queen of Ashes

The glass of whiskey sat between them, a silent invitation.

Alba knew that accepting this drink meant stepping into a game where she didn’t yet know all the rules. A game where every glance, every word, every silence could be a weapon.

But backing down was not an option.

She reached out with a light smile and took the glass Enea offered her. The crystal was cold against her fingers, contrasting with the warmth of the amber liquid inside.

"Cheers, Moretti."

Enea watched her, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before raising his own glass.

"To our meeting… Elena Ricci."

He pronounced her fake name with deliberate slowness, as if testing its weight on his tongue. Alba met his gaze, letting nothing slip. She had to be perfect.

She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. The whiskey burned slightly down her throat, but she didn’t let it show.

Enea Moretti placed his own glass on the table with a slow, controlled gesture. Then, he leaned back against the leather couch, his eyes still locked onto her.

"So, tell me, Elena. What do you really know about me?"

Alba gave a slight smile.

"Everyone knows who you are. But what people say… is it the truth, or just a carefully crafted myth?"

Enea raised an amused eyebrow.

"And what have you heard?"

Alba pretended to think, playing with the glass between her fingers.

"That you’re a dangerous man. A man who always gets what he wants. That no one dares to challenge you."

She let her gaze drift over him, carefully weighing each word.

"And that those who try to deceive you… don’t get a second chance."

A heavy silence fell between them. Tense. Electric.

Enea was no longer smiling. His eyes had narrowed slightly, as if assessing her words.

Then, unexpectedly, he gave a slow nod.

"Interesting rumors. And you, Elena, do you believe in rumors?"

Alba shrugged slightly, feigning indifference.

"I believe in what I see."

Enea studied her for another moment, then suddenly laughed. A short, genuine laugh.

"I like the way you think."

He stood up slowly, picking up his glass before walking toward the bay window overlooking the city. Alba watched his silhouette, his calculated posture. Every move Enea Moretti made was a perfect blend of control and quiet menace.

He was dangerous.

But she had to be even more dangerous.