#Tanzania. Ngorongoro Crater.#
A palace carved into the earth and built above an extinct volcano, camouflaged by trees and money. You wouldn't find it on a map—not even in whispers. Tonight, it belonged to ghosts and monsters.
It was a night made of silk and shadows. A masquerade ball for the world's darkest elite. The ones who didn't just rule empires—they owned the currencies beneath them. From Russian oil barons to Cuban gunlords, African diamond dealers, Middle Eastern shadow investors, and pirates who ran whole seas.
But the one who pulled the strings tonight?
Ricci.
Scar-faced. Sweaty. Cloaked in royal gold and black robes. Paranoid—but alive. Or so he thought.
---
Lía and Alessio walked in through the east wing. Their identities: forged. Their presence: unexpected. They didn't need an invite. They moved like they belonged.
Alessio's black velvet tuxedo hugged his frame. His mask matte and simple. But his eyes—sharp. Focused.
Then there was Lía.
Red silk gown slit thigh-high, her hair pinned up in a cruel crown. Black lace mask. Lips tinted like forbidden cherries. She didn't walk. She glided. Every gaze turned toward her, but she belonged to no one. Alessio had never seen her this dangerous—and it was driving him mad.
"You look like sin," he whispered as they reached the marble staircase.
She smirked.
"Then don't confess."
From a high balcony, The Daughters of the Night watched. All in black, shadows among shadows. Armed. Unseen. Awaiting a signal.
But something... shifted.
---
She arrived. Sienna Black.
No one recognized her. Not the guards. Not Ricci. Not even Alessio.
Because this wasn't the woman the world had buried.
This was resurrection.
She wore a jet-black satin gown, with a plunging neckline that exposed a river of skin down to her belly. Her back bare, glistening beneath the chandelier's moody glow.
A black diamond choker rested at her throat like a noose of royalty.
Her wedding band gleamed.
Her mask covered half her face, but her eyes—smokey, feline, endless—could stop a heartbeat.
And her lips… painted in crimson matte.
Every step she took down the grand stairs, the music slowed, like the orchestra was watching her too.
Men turned. Some lusted. Others feared her without knowing why.
Ricci didn't notice her yet—he was too busy talking to a Ghanaian warlord.
Alessio's gaze swept the room, but it slid right past her. He saw her but didn't see her.
Lía, however, stilled. Her breath hitched.
She knew.
But Sienna gave no sign. She was a ghost in couture.
---
Ricci turned. Laughing.
And then… silence.
His eyes met hers across the ballroom. Her lips curled.
He didn't recognize her at first. How could he?
This was no widow. No mother. No queen in mourning.
This was the beginning and end of his life.
His throat dried.
She moved through the crowd, hips swaying, smile slight. The music returned, but muffled, distant, irrelevant.
Each step she took was history coming for him.
---
She stopped just inches from him.
"Una danza?" she purred. (A dance?)
He nodded, frozen, bewitched.
They danced.
His hand on her waist. Her hand on his shoulder. Everyone watched.
And as they spun under the golden dome, he whispered, "You look like someone I once knew…"
She smiled, leaning in. Her breath on his ear:
"She's dead. I'm what came after."
His blood turned ice.
Her lips touched his cheek, slowly. Softly.
And there it was. The crimson kiss.
"Baciami l'ultima volta." (Kiss me one last time.)
He staggered back.
Eyes wide.
She was already walking away.
Behind her, the Daughters of the Night closed in. But not with bullets.
Ricci fell to his knees, hands trembling.
"No… no... Sienna…" he croaked.
But it was too late.
The poison on her lips did the rest.
He never screamed.
---
From across the room, Alessio finally realized.
"Mamma...?"
Lía touched his arm.
"She came for her final kiss."
---
Outside, the crater echoed with ancient silence. The stars blinked down, unaware that a war had just ended.
And somewhere beneath the Tanzanian sky, a new era began.
Because vengeance, like blood, runs through generations.
And la vendetta di Sienna Black had finally kissed her last name goodbye.
---
#Flash Forward: The Quiet Flame#
Location: Florence, Italy.
Time: 17 years later.
The villa on the hillside was silent, save for the gentle hum of wind through olive trees and the rhythmic ticking of an old grandfather clock in the hall.
Alessio Black stood at the balcony of Villa Rosso, the same villa where crimson once stained velvet, where love had once danced beside grief. His eyes now held the weight of time—a sharper version of his father's, but shadowed by his mother's silence.
Beside him, Lía moved like dusk itself—elegant, unyielding, and softened only by her gaze when it fell on him.
They hadn't aged loudly. Their youth had remained—preserved by purpose, hardened by quiet wars and choices made in the dark. They had ruled silently—not like a king and queen, but like two halves of a blade.
From inside, a voice called out:
"Babbo! Mamma! Look what I found!"
A young boy—sixteen, with amber eyes like Sienna's and the jawline of a Black—ran into the garden. In his hand, an old black ring box.
Alessio's heart paused.
He exchanged a glance with Lía.
They knew exactly what was inside.
The boy opened the box, revealing the black diamond ring—Alessandro's. The one that disappeared the night his blood soaked into Sienna's gown.
"It was buried near the old vineyard," he grinned.
Alessio walked over and took the ring.
"Questo era di mio padre," he said softly. (This was my father's.)
Lía took the boy's hand.
"Some stories never die," she whispered. "They just wait to be told again."
And above them, hidden behind the upper window's shadow—
Sienna watched.
Older now. Slower in body. But her mind still sharp as the blade she once wore beneath her wedding gown. She wore a black shawl, her hair streaked with silver—but her eyes were untouched by time.
She smiled, just faintly.
"Il sangue non dimentica." (Blood does not forget.)
She turned away from the window, disappearing into the shadows once again.
Not all queens wear crowns. Some wear silence.
---
#The Scent of Vanilla#
Three days later. A private estate on the coast of Zanzibar.
The sea outside was silent, the kind of silence that comes only after storms. It was the same silence Sienna Black had known after Alessandro's death. The kind that doesn't ask questions—but waits.
Alessio stood barefoot on the marble balcony, the morning light grazing his cheekbones. His tuxedo was gone, replaced by a loose white shirt and dark slacks. He had not slept much.
Inside, Lía was curled on the chaise, a soft silk robe around her. Her hair was down, wild and untamed. On the table: two glasses of red wine untouched, and a single crimson lipstick, left open like a memory.
The ocean breeze carried the scent of vanilla.
It was the same perfume Sienna used to wear.
"She knew," Lía finally said, breaking the silence. "About us."
Alessio didn't turn.
"When?"
"Always. She just waited… to see what it would become."
He exhaled slowly, then turned back to her. "Why didn't you tell me she was alive?"
Lía's voice broke just a little.
"Because your mother told me not to. And when Sienna Black gives a command, you obey."
She stood and walked to him. "But I never lied about how I felt, Alessio. Not once."
There was a long pause between them.
Then he pulled her close, his voice low, uncertain.
"You think she'll hate us?"
From the doorway, a voice like velvet responded.
"Hate you? No, amore. I made you."
Sienna stood at the threshold.
No mask now. No choker. Just a black silk wrap and hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked… timeless. Not just younger than when she married Alessandro—but softer now. War had left her, and peace had kissed her cheek.
She stepped into the light.
"You surprised me," she said, voice warm, almost amused. "Lía, of all people. You, so loyal. And him… my son. My shadow and light."
Lía looked down.
Alessio cleared his throat. "We didn't mean for it to happen."
Sienna came closer. "The best things in life rarely begin with intention. Mine didn't. Alessandro and I… we began with chaos too."
She reached out and brushed Lía's hair from her face.
"He smells like him, doesn't he?" she whispered.
Lía nodded.
"And you," Sienna turned to Alessio, "you kissed the darkness and didn't flinch. That's how I know it's real."
They were silent.
Then she laughed softly.
"Just don't name any future daughter after me. One Sienna is enough."
The tension melted.
Alessio chuckled. Lía blinked back something close to tears.
Sienna raised her glass from the table.
"To love. The kind that survives war, blood, and time."
They raised theirs too.
Outside, the waves whispered.
And inside that villa by the sea, the Black legacy was no longer just vengeance.
It was love.
---
La vendetta di Sienna Black.
non riguarda il potere, ma l'influenza e
l'amore. 💄
THE END