Boston Private Airstrip — 3:24 AM
The wind screamed across the tarmac like it knew what she was about to do.
Angela Isabella Ferrari Hughes stood beneath the open hatch of a matte black jet — no insignias, no tail number, just shadows stitched into steel.
Her tailored trench coat fluttered around her boots. Underneath, black leather pants and a silk blouse with a high collar. Her face was almost bare — except for a dust of shadow, red wine lips, and dark contacts that dulled the sharpness of her eyes.
New identity. New name.
Dr. Elise Martell. International art dealer. Lethal. Untouchable.
She turned once, scanning the horizon. Her dogs weren’t with her this time. William and Enry had no idea she was leaving. Not yet. This was personal.
Her gloved hand clutched a single item: the silver cufflink that had fallen from Sinclair’s shirt the night she almost killed him — or almost loved him. She hadn’t decided which it was yet.
> “He lied in Italy.”
The words haunted her. A message from a ghost with no name.
> But what lie?
That he hadn’t known who she was?
That the night meant nothing?
Or that he hadn’t already chosen a side?
She was going to find out — face-to-face.
The flight attendant appeared at the top of the steps.
> “Dr. Martell, we’re ready for departure.”
She nodded once, steel in her spine.
> “Wheels up. Milan.”
She ascended the steps without looking back.
---
In Flight — 4:11 AM
The cabin was silent, dark except for one overhead light where she sat cross-legged with a glass of scotch.
Her phone was in airplane mode. But the encrypted tablet buzzed on the table beside her. Intel reports. Heat maps. Surveillance footage of Sinclair’s compound on the outskirts of Milan.
She watched one video loop over and over — a frame where he stepped out of his black Maserati in a dark coat, wind whipping through his hair, eyes unreadable.
She hated him.
She missed him.
And she was going to destroy him — or save him. One of the two.
The scotch burned her throat. She welcomed it.
> “If he touches a nerve again, I’ll cut his.”
She closed her eyes. But her body remembered his hands. His voice.
The part of her that wanted to kill him — and the part that wanted to crawl into him and never leave.
> One more night like that... and I won't come back.
---
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. ************...
