The night was alive with neon and sin.
In the heart of the city, a restaurant buzzed with drunken laughter, silverware clinking, and whispered deals best left unheard. Beneath the velvet luxury and false smiles, this was neutral ground—where even killers and smugglers dropped their blades for a glass of whiskey.
But tonight, everyone went silent.
Because she walked in.
Arora.
The head of the Black Rose.
A name that had clawed its way out of nowhere two years ago and now ruled the city's underworld like a silent storm.
No one knew exactly where she came from.
All they knew was that she'd appeared out of the shadows, taken over a dying gang, and—within months—turned it into a force even the police dared not cross.
They said she killed her first boss with her bare hands.
That she made extortionists pay back their victims—before burying them.
That her gang didn't deal in dirt or fear, but in balance.
And that if Arora decided you didn't belong in her city—
you simply vanished.
---
Inside the restaurant, a man in a cheap suit tried to act like he wasn't trembling. His name was Zena—a small-time thug, once bold enough to cheat one of Arora's people.
He was laughing too loudly, his hand shaking around his glass. "Come on, boss," he said to the man beside him. "You think she really scares me? That woman's just lucky. Two years and everyone treats her like she's some queen—"
His words stopped when the sound of heels clicked against marble.
A cold hush swept the room.
Arora walked in wearing black—simple, sharp, dangerous. Her coat brushed her knees, and a faint silver pendant hung from her neck, glinting like a blade.
Her gaze passed over every face, not stopping for long—until it landed on Zena.
"Still alive?" she asked, her tone calm but laced with quiet amusement.
Zena froze. "B-Black Rose…"
She tilted her head slightly. "You owe me a payment, Zena."
"I—I'll get it, I swear! I just need a week!" he stammered.
"You had two," she said simply.
Her hand moved before anyone saw it coming—two fingers pressed against a nerve on his shoulder.
Zena gasped, collapsing instantly. The room flinched as he hit the ground, clutching his arm, paralyzed by pain.
"Acupuncture," she murmured, crouching beside him. "You'd be surprised how many ways the human body can scream without bleeding."
Her tone wasn't angry. It was worse—disappointed.
"Let this be a reminder," she said softly, straightening up. "You cheat my people, you pay in pain first, then money."
She glanced toward the waiter, who stood frozen behind the counter. "And as for you," she added, "tell your manager to stop serving deals under this roof. Or next time, I'll shut this place myself."
The waiter nodded so quickly he nearly dropped the tray.
Arora turned and walked out, her coat swirling behind her, every pair of eyes in the restaurant following her in utter silence.
---
Outside, rain began to fall, soft and steady.
She paused beneath a flickering streetlight, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling like a ghost around her face.
Another night. Another lesson.
Behind her, Zena was still trembling on the floor, whispering prayers he never believed in.
The legend of the Black Rose had grown one chapter longer.
And for those who ruled the shadows, the message was clear:
There was a new queen in town—
and mercy was not her language.
To Be Continued.