Location: Isabella’s Boston Penthouse — 2:07 AM
The silence of the night was suffocating.
Boston lights shimmered beyond the window, casting thin silver lines across the glass walls of Isabella’s office. Her dogs lay by the door, ears twitching as if they could feel the tension crawling through the air.
She was still in her tactical gear — hadn’t even peeled off the last glove. The whiskey in her glass remained untouched.
Then, the screen on her private encrypted laptop blinked.
New Message. Anonymous Inbox.
One sentence.
> “He lied to you in Italy.”
Her stomach dropped.
Sinclair.
She didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
That mission. That night. The man she was supposed to seduce, manipulate, and kill — but didn’t. The man whose hands burned her skin, whose voice still echoed in the back of her mind like a sin she couldn’t confess.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She clicked open — but the message auto-deleted before anything else could appear.
Just that line.
Just enough to light the match.
> He lied? About what?
> About who he is? Or who she is to him?
Because that night hadn’t been scripted. Not by her. Not by him. And certainly not by the agency that assigned her to put a bullet between his eyes.
And yet… she let him live.
And he let her leave.
So what the fuck had he lied about?
She stood slowly, like a predator waking up from slumber. Her mask of control was back on, but her eyes — storm.
Isabella opened her drawer.
Pulled out the black file with a red wax seal.
> Target: Matthew Theodore Sinclair
Mission Status: Aborted
Agent Decision: Classified
Intel Report: Incomplete
She had buried that mission under the rug of silence. No one on the task force ever questioned it. They just assumed it failed.
But now…
Now someone knew.
And they were watching.
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YOU ARE READING
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. ************...
