Chapter: Operation Glass Vein
Location: outskirts of Bucharest, Romania – a decaying train station long abandoned to rust and silence. It's past midnight. Rain slices the air sideways.
Intel Brief:
Interpol flagged a major shipment of military-grade weapons believed to be routed through Eastern Europe — financed by an anonymous Balkan syndicate. The task force suspects a new mafia figure is rising… and they want a meeting.
What they don’t know is:
That leader… is Isabella.
---
The Story Begins:
The dull hum of servers filled the war room as Isabella leaned over the blueprint of the derelict station. Fingers stained with pen ink, nails sharp and black.
“Two entry points. One exit. Thermal blind spots here… and here,” she murmured, tracing the perimeter.
Gigi, seated on the edge of the steel table, loaded her pistol in silence. “They want to meet him. The leader. That’s you, Bella.”
Isabella didn’t flinch. “Then he’ll be who they need him to be. Get the mask.”
Her voice was smooth — low, dangerous. No one in the unit had ever seen the real leader of the Balkan mafia. Only rumors. A ghost who carved up rivals and vanished into smoke.
She’d been crafting this shadow version of herself for years. A male identity. No face. No origin. Just terror.
And tonight, she’d become him.
---
Hours Later.
A black armored van purred to a stop in the far lot. Isabella stepped out — six inches taller than usual, her body wrapped in dark tactical gear. Her voice altered. Her eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses. A scar carved into the silicone jawline of the mask.
She moved like a man. She breathed like one. The alias… had fully consumed her.
Inside the station, agents from three countries waited — and two of Isabella’s own legal task force allies. They didn’t know she was watching from the shadows and standing in front of them at the same time.
One of the agents — young, overly confident — lit a cigarette.
“We're here to negotiate. Your buyer botched the Trieste handoff. You owe us answers.”
The masked figure — Isabella — stepped forward. Not a word. Just presence.
Behind her, Gigi stood like a shadow, armed, unreadable.
And in her ear, Thomas Walker’s voice crackled over the comms.
“American task force is getting too close. You’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before someone spots a crack in the act.”
Isabella’s voice dropped, masculine and cold.
“You're speaking to the wrong side of history,” she said to the agent. “This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a warning.”
A pause.
Then everything exploded.
A sniper round cracked the air. Smoke grenades shattered on the floor. Isabella grabbed the agent by the throat and slammed him against the rusted train car.
Gunfire erupted.
Gigi pulled her into cover, shouting, “Plan B. You knew they’d come armed.”
“I hoped they would,” Isabella replied, tossing her voice changer.
---
Minutes Later.
The task force arrived — too late. Blood. Shell casings. And a symbol carved into the train wall in knife edge:
> “For every lie you speak, a king rises in silence.”
The new Balkan leader had made an entrance.
Back at the villa, Isabella peeled off the disguise in her private office. Her hands shook, but her eyes didn’t blink.
The mask was off. But the power… remained.
Tomorrow, she’d meet the task force as Isabella Hughes — calm, polished, legally brilliant.
Tonight, she had reminded the underworld who really ruled it.
---
Chapter: The Ghost File
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Isabella was already showered, dressed, and seated behind her desk at the villa. Black silk shirt. Hair tied back. A cigarette lit, untouched.
The aftermath of the Bucharest station ambush was already a whisper.
Interpol had no proof. No body. No trace. Just a list of dead smugglers and one missing task force agent — the one she’d grabbed before everything detonated.
She hadn’t killed him.
No, she left him alive with just enough oxygen and trauma to make his mind unravel. He'd seen a masked figure with no face, no voice — just darkness and death.
He was transferred to a psychiatric ward in Munich that morning. Diagnosed with psychotic dissociation.
Case closed.
On her encrypted laptop, Isabella opened a file marked:
“Operation Glass Vein: Status — Redacted”
She typed a single note.
> “Mafia leader presumed myth. Nothing traceable. All physical evidence incinerated. Task force deception successful.”
She shut the file.
Gigi entered without knocking, wearing a hoodie and combat boots. She dropped a flash drive on Isabella’s desk.
“Every camera feed within 10 miles is scrubbed. No face, no vehicle tags, no prints. Your legend held.”
Isabella didn’t look up. “Did the harbor crew talk?”
“No.” Gigi smirked. “They’re too scared to say your name. You’re a god now, boss.”
But Isabella didn’t smile.
This wasn’t about ego. It was about silence. Power came in shadows — not noise.
She opened her drawer, poured a few fingers of whiskey into her espresso.
"You're going to rot your stomach doing that," Gigi muttered.
"Already rotted," Isabella said flatly. "Might as well flavor it."
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of Boston, a small Interpol office had received an anonymous tip.
A name.
Ferrari.
No first name. Just the last.
It landed on a desk. A manila envelope. No sender.
And it was marked:
“For internal eyes only. Tread carefully — she is not who you think.”
---
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MAFIA QUEEN
Short StoryAfter the 3 sentries she is born, the only girl in the family. But they are not the ordinary people they are famous Italian Mafia. THE FERRARI FAMILY But they lost her because of the work they are in and because of their reputation. ************...
