Isabella’s POV – Milan Penthouse (Same Night)
Midnight. Rain hits the glass windows like bullets.
She slammed the door shut, heels echoing across marble as she stepped into her penthouse. The lights were low. The room cold. Her pulse — reckless.
Sinclair’s words wouldn’t stop replaying.
> “You were never just a mission. You were the bullet I took willingly.”
She growled under her breath and pulled the wig off, tossing it on the floor. Her hands trembled — not from fear. From something else.
She hated this city. Hated the silk sheets that used to smell like him. Hated the feeling that her skin still remembered his touch, even years later.
She walked straight into the bathroom, splashed water on her face. Her reflection was distorted — hair damp, mascara smudged, soul bleeding.
> “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” she muttered at her reflection.
But she didn’t. And that’s what haunted her most.
In the bedroom, her laptop screen blinked to life. Another message — same encrypted source.
> “You weren’t the only one being hunted that night in Florence.”
Her eyes sharpened.
What the fuck did that mean?
Had someone else been after her? Or… after him?
She slammed the laptop shut. Her past was no longer past. It was circling like a wolf — closing in.
She threw off her coat, poured whiskey into a crystal glass, and leaned on the windowsill, watching the city pulse with secrets.
The only thing louder than the storm outside...
...was the war inside her.
---
Sinclair’s POV – Club Veludo, Minutes After
He stayed standing long after she disappeared into the crowd — her perfume still clinging to the air like a dare.
She was fury wrapped in flesh.
> “You were my favorite weapon.”
He hadn’t meant to say that. Not tonight. Not ever.
Sinclair picked up his untouched drink and downed it in one go.
She was smarter now. Colder. Deadlier. She played the long game — just like he taught her.
The problem was, she wasn’t playing anymore.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. A message blinked on the screen.
> Unknown Sender:
“She doesn’t know everything. Not yet.”
He exhaled slowly.
> “They’re starting to move…” he whispered to himself.
He turned, nodded once at the man in the shadows — his own tail, his own insurance.
> “Track her. But don’t engage.”
He buttoned his coat, adjusted his cufflinks, and walked out of Club Veludo with a devil’s calm. The night air hit his face like a slap, but he didn’t flinch.
Because now...
he remembered.
Everything.
---
Spanish Mafia Compound, Valencia Hills – 8:44 AM
The sun hadn’t even risen over Boston when Isabella boarded the jet. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t spoken. She didn’t need to.
Ali was already waiting at the compound by the time she landed in Spain. The air was heavy with anticipation.
Arrival – Stone & Sunlight
The compound was carved into the cliffs of Valencia, hidden behind a centuries-old vineyard and a perimeter that looked more like a fortress than a mansion. Turrets, guards, watch towers. The Spanish mafia didn’t do subtle. They did legacy and fear.
The matte black SUV screeched into the courtyard. Isabella stepped out — leather coat sweeping behind her like a shadow.
Ali met her at the stairs.
> “Boss,” she said, arms crossed, brown eyes sharp behind designer sunglasses.
> “He lied to me,” Isabella said flatly.
Ali didn’t need to ask who. She’d read the encrypted message too. She was one of the few allowed to. One of the few that lived long enough to understand what betrayal meant in Isabella’s world.
> “Want to bury him alive or set the trap first?” Ali asked, tone dry.
> “Both. But first — files. I want everything we have on his connections to Interpol. And I want it yesterday.”
Ali snapped her fingers. The doors opened.
> “Spanish intel team’s waiting. Your war room’s ready. And... the espresso machine works.”
---
Inside the Compound – War Room
The glass table gleamed under surveillance screens. Dossiers were laid out like a battlefield. Red string. Photos. Contracts.
Isabella walked straight to the wall and traced her fingers over Sinclair’s face.
Then she ripped it down.
> “We’re reclassifying him. Not as a threat.”
> “What then?” Ali asked.
> “As unfinished business.”
Ali smirked.
> “Let me guess. We seduce, destroy, and burn the evidence?”
> “No,” Isabella said. “We make him beg to burn it himself.”
---
Ali’s POV (Brief)
Ali had seen Isabella like this before — once, in Monaco, when they hunted the rogue Spanish finance handler who tried to embezzle from the organization. He ended up jumping off a balcony with a broken neck.
This was different.
This wasn’t about money.
This was personal.
Ali wasn’t afraid for Isabella.
She was afraid for the world.
Because when Isabella was betrayed…
She didn’t just go after the guilty.
She scorched every bridge that connected to them.
---
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. ************...
