The city gleamed like a blade beneath the morning sun.
From the suite overlooking the skyline, Amira watched the world move below — cars like silver ants, towers stabbing the sky, and people chasing dreams that weren't real.
She'd once been one of them — innocent, naïve, believing that love could conquer deceit.
Now she knew better.
Behind her, Leonardo spoke quietly into his phone, voice cold and efficient.
"Yes… the villa's gone. Erase all traces of the explosion. Tell the press it was an electrical fault."
A pause. "And make sure the board believes I'm dead. We'll use that."
He ended the call, his reflection meeting hers in the window. "They think they've won."
Amira turned, her expression calm but unreadable. "Then let's make them celebrate early."
Leonardo studied her — the silk robe she wore, the faint bruise on her wrist, the fire behind her eyes. She wasn't the trembling bride he'd married. She looked like someone born from the ashes.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked quietly. "Once we start playing their game, there's no undoing it."
Amira met his gaze. "I stopped being afraid the night your world burned."
An hour later, the suite transformed into a war room.
Papers, digital maps, and encrypted drives lay scattered across the table. Leonardo stood beside a whiteboard filled with names and red lines.
Victor Lang's name sat at the center — circled twice in blood-red ink.
"Here's what we know," Leonardo said. "Victor controls at least five board members through shell companies. They've been laundering money through international subsidiaries. The drive contains evidence of everything — but we can't go public yet."
Amira crossed her arms. "Because they'll bury it?"
"Because they'll bury us first," he replied.
Marcus's empty chair sat across from them. His gun rested there like a ghost's signature.
Amira's voice softened. "He gave his life for this."
Leonardo nodded. "We don't waste that sacrifice."
He moved to the window, jaw tight. "Tomorrow, the board meets to elect a new chairman. They think I'm gone. You'll attend in my place."
Amira blinked. "Me?"
"You're still legally my wife — and majority shareholder by proxy. The board won't question your right to attend. They'll see you as a grieving widow… harmless."
Her pulse quickened. "And while I play the widow?"
Leonardo turned to face her, eyes burning. "You'll plant this."
He handed her a small, black device — a transmitter barely the size of a ring box.
"It'll copy all their encrypted data and send it to an external server. Once I've gathered enough proof, we expose them."
Amira stared at the device in her palm. "You want me to spy on them?"
He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "I want you to bring down the men who used us both."
Their eyes locked — the tension between vengeance and trust humming like static.
The next day
The DeLuca Tower stood like a monument to betrayal — glass, steel, and ambition stitched together by greed.
Amira's car stopped in front of the main entrance. Cameras flashed instantly.
She stepped out slowly, every movement calculated. The world saw a widow — black dress, veil, pearl earrings. But beneath the mourning clothes beat a heart sharpened by fury.
The reporters swarmed.
"Mrs. DeLuca, is it true your husband's body hasn't been found?"
"Do you plan to claim the company shares?"
"Is it true the board suspects foul play?"
Amira's lips curved into a soft, sorrowful smile — perfectly rehearsed.
"I have no comment at this time," she said, voice calm as silk.
Inside, the boardroom loomed — twelve men in suits, whispers cutting through the air like knives.
Victor Lang sat at the head, his silver hair immaculate, his smile wolfish.
"Mrs. DeLuca," he said, rising smoothly. "We were deeply saddened to hear of Leonardo's… passing. Please accept our condolences."
Her gaze didn't waver. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Lang."
Victor gestured to a chair. "Please. Sit. We were just discussing company succession."
Amira took her seat, slipping the tiny transmitter beneath the table edge.
Her fingers didn't shake — though every heartbeat echoed in her throat.
Victor leaned back. "As you know, the company must appoint a new chairman immediately. Stability is key. Investors panic easily."
"And you think you're the best choice?" she asked mildly.
Victor chuckled. "I've been with DeLuca Group for twenty years. I've earned the board's trust."
"Trust," Amira repeated, voice soft but pointed. "That's a rare currency in this company, isn't it?"
A flicker crossed Victor's eyes — brief, sharp. "I suppose grief makes one see shadows where there are none."
She smiled sweetly. "Or truths where everyone else sees light."
The board shifted uneasily. Victor cleared his throat. "We'll proceed with the vote."
As the meeting dragged on, Amira listened — catching whispers, noting glances.
Every word, every signature, every number on the digital screens was being mirrored to Leonardo's hidden server. Her heart raced with each passing minute.
Victor outlined "new company directions," subtly diverting funds to shell accounts. She realized how deep the rot went — and how dangerous her role truly was.
At one point, Victor leaned close to her, his breath brushing her ear.
"You're remarkably composed for a widow."
Amira looked him straight in the eye. "Composure is a weapon, Mr. Lang. Some of us just hide the blade better."
Victor's smile faltered.
When the vote ended, Victor was declared acting chairman.
Applause followed — hollow and rehearsed.
But under the table, Amira's transmitter blinked once. Transmission complete.
She stood gracefully. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me. I need to prepare for my husband's memorial."
Victor nodded, eyes narrow. "Of course. My condolences again… Mrs. DeLuca."
Amira walked out, back straight, heart pounding. Every camera flash outside felt like lightning — every smile, a dagger waiting for blood.
⸻
Back at the safehouse, Leonardo paced the floor as the drive loaded on the monitor.
Lines of code scrolled rapidly — files, recordings, money trails.
"You did it," he murmured.
Amira dropped her purse, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "They didn't suspect a thing."
He turned to her, pride and worry mixing in his gaze. "You were incredible."
"Don't sound surprised."
Leonardo chuckled — the first genuine sound of warmth in days. "You remind me of someone."
"Your father?" she guessed.
He shook his head. "Me. Before revenge turned me into something colder."
Amira stepped closer. "Maybe there's still warmth left."
He looked at her, really looked — and for a moment, the world stopped burning.
Then the screen beeped.
INCOMING MESSAGE: UNKNOWN SOURCE
Leonardo frowned. "That's impossible. The line's encrypted."
The message appeared in bold text:
"You think you've won? You're still inside my game."
A video link followed.
Leonardo clicked it — and the screen filled with Victor's face.
"Nice work, Mrs. DeLuca. You played your part beautifully. Did you think I wouldn't notice a transmitter? Your late husband trained me too well."
Amira froze, blood draining from her face.
"But don't worry," Victor continued smoothly. "You're still useful. The world believes Leonardo is dead — let's keep it that way. If you want your sister to stay alive, you'll do exactly as I say."
Amira's breath hitched. "My sister—"
Leonardo turned sharply. "What did he mean?"
She stared at the screen, horror dawning. "He has her. My sister, Layla. She's been missing since the fire."
Victor smiled darkly.
"Tick tock, my dear bride. Bring me the drive in 48 hours… or you'll watch her die."
The message cut off.
Silence swallowed the room.
Amira's hands trembled. "Leonardo… I can't lose her. Not her."
He grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly. "You won't. We'll get her back."
Her eyes filled with tears. "How? He knows everything."
Leonardo's jaw tightened. "Then we stop playing defense."
He turned to the board of evidence, tearing it down piece by piece.
"No more hiding. No more pretending I'm dead. We go after Victor directly."
Amira stepped forward, voice shaking but fierce. "Then we take his empire the way he took ours — from the inside."
Leonardo looked at her — and for the first time, he saw not the bride he'd used, but the woman who now stood beside him as an equal.
His voice was quiet. "You've changed."
"So have you," she whispered. "Maybe that's what surviving does to people like us."
He smiled faintly. "Then let's make survival look like victory."
⸻
That night, as storm clouds gathered over the city, Amira stood by the window, watching lightning fork across the sky.
Her reflection looked back — haunted, beautiful, determined.
Behind her, Leonardo loaded a weapon and slid it into his coat.
"Tomorrow, we move."
"Where?" she asked.
He turned, eyes burning with purpose.
"To Victor's empire. If he wants a war—" he paused, stepping close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath.
"—then he's about to meet the wrong kind of widow."
Amira smiled slowly. "Let's show him how dangerous a paper bride can be."
The thunder rolled — the sound of something greater than revenge awakening.