"You're late," Dani said, his voice a low growl that cut through the bass.

Ciresica leaned over the table, the crimson silk of her dress catching the light like spilled wine. "A queen doesn't arrive on time, Dani. She arrives when the stage is set."

In the corner booth, shrouded in the scent of expensive cigars and cold confidence, sat . He didn't move. He didn't have to. Every eye in the place was on her, but her eyes—sharp as diamonds and just as cold—were locked onto his. She was the "Cherry" of the underworld, the kind of sweetness that came with a lethal aftertaste.