"I don't do shit halfway, sweetheart. You step in my flames, you'll burn to ashes!"
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The Kings of the underworld are in a bit of a predicament; their rule over the city is challenged as an old enemy...
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Let the past die, kill it, if you have to. ~ Kylo Ren, Star Wars _________________
10 years ago, Detroit, Marcella
A storm had swallowed the Detroit skyline whole, swallowing the city in a tide of lightning and shadow. Rain drummed against the floor-to-ceiling windows like warning shots. Thunder cracked in the distance, but the true storm simmered inside the 78th floor of a tower owned by men who didn't need names to inspire fear.
Lee Su Hyok stood alone in his office, facing the fire like he expected it to speak. His silhouette, rigid and controlled, was etched against the flames that danced with false warmth. The fire didn't warm him. Nothing did. Not anymore.
Behind him, the polished black marble floor reflected a lone glass of untouched whiskey resting on his desk. His jacket was discarded, sleeves rolled up, tattoos on display — symbols inked in blood and loyalty. He didn't look like a criminal. He looked like a god who'd fallen into the underworld and decided to rule it instead.
Suhyok stood still, the underboss of the Dragons rarely hesitated. He commanded respect with his posture alone — tall, lean, deadly. But tonight, even he was unsettled.
The click of a door handle twisted the silence like a blade.
"Boss. She's here," said a voice. Low, respectful, wary.
Su Hyok didn't turn. He didn't need to.
"Let her in."
He already knew who it was. He'd smelled the storm long before she walked through the door.
And he was right.
The door clicked open. Footsteps padded across the floor like a whisper of regret.
She entered like a myth.
Marcella.
Drenched in rain. Hair wild. Black coat molded to her figure. But it was her expression that cut through the air — unreadable. A porcelain mask crafted by war and pain.
She walked past him without a word, without acknowledgment. Not like a woman begging for forgiveness, but like a woman who already knew the outcome and had decided to ignore it.
What caught Su Hyok off guard wasn't the unusual frailty of her appearance, it was her eyes.
Not wide with panic.
Not soft with regret.
Sharp. Calculating. Alive.
She moved like a shadow given form poised, and dangerously alluring. Dressed head to toe in black leather, the glossy material clung to her body like a second skin, accentuating every curve while still radiating authority. A fitted leather jacket hugged her frame, its high collar brushing her jawline, while tight leather pants tucked seamlessly into sleek, heeled combat boots. Wide belts cinched her waist, the matte-black buckles glinting faintly under the light. Strapped to her thighs and hips were gun holsters, empty because his men knew what they were doing. They wouldn't allow her to enter with her gear.
