Isabella's private compound in La Moraleja, Madrid — base of the Spanish mafia and headquarters of her luxury front company Valencia Hills.
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Arrival at the Spanish Compound
The black Falcon helicopter cut through the dusk skies of Spain, descending onto the private helipad hidden among the palm-lined gardens of Isabella’s estate. Below, the marble compound shimmered in golden hues — not just a home, but an empire carved in stone, glass, and blood.
Allison Grace González — “Ali” — was waiting at the landing zone.
Clad in white slacks and a silk blouse, her hair perfectly swept, she looked like a CEO. But the Glock tucked at her back and the steel in her eyes reminded everyone what she really was.
Isabella stepped out in her signature black heels, sunglasses on even though the sun had dipped. Her energy was cold, composed — lethal. Ali followed beside her as they walked toward the grand hall.
> “Everyone’s cleared out. I took care of the ones who asked too many questions,” Ali said with a casual shrug.
> “And the records?” Isabella asked.
> “Erased. Valencia Hills is clean again.”
They entered the glass atrium — a mix of opulence and brutal efficiency. Gold chandeliers above, war maps below. Every inch screamed control.
---
Private Briefing Room – Lower Level
Once inside, Isabella removed her jacket and tossed it across a marble chair.
Ali poured them drinks. Spanish whiskey. No words at first.
> “The message from Boston?” Ali finally asked.
> “Encrypted. Anonymous. But I already know who sent it,” Isabella said, swirling the glass. “Sinclair lied.”
Ali didn’t blink. She had seen Isabella burn entire cities for less.
> “So what now?” she asked.
> “Now?” Isabella smirked darkly. “Now we clean house. I want every rat sniffed out. Start with the Ferrari trail. If my brothers are anywhere near this, I want to know before they know I know.”
> “Understood.”
---
Surveillance Chamber – Underground
The walls were lined with screens — street feeds, facial tracking, bank pings, heartbeat data. Isabella stood before it all like a war goddess in stilettos.
On one of the screens: Sinclair.
Smiling. Alive. Dangerous. Lying.
She didn’t flinch.
> “Keep him under heat. But don’t touch him until I say.”
Ali glanced at her. “You’re not killing him?”
> “Oh no,” Isabella said, lips curling cruelly. “I’m going to make him wish I had.”
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Nightfall – Rooftop of Valencia Hills
Under the stars, Isabella stood alone.
The skyline of Madrid shimmered below, but her mind was in Boston, London, Rome — everywhere and nowhere. The game was expanding.
Her phone buzzed.
A new message. From an unknown number.
> “I can prove everything. Meet me in Venice. Come alone.”
She didn’t respond. Not yet.
She lit a cigarette, inhaled, then whispered to the dark:
> “Game on.”
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Location: Venice, Italy – Midnight | Hidden Mafia Safehouse near the Grand Canal
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Arrival in Shadows
Isabella arrived alone — no guards, no entourage.
Just stilettos on the wet stones of Venice, and the weight of every lie wrapped around her like silk. The moonlight bounced off the canals, illuminating her cloak just enough to make her silhouette both divine and dangerous.
She walked toward the marked safehouse: a villa hidden behind a crumbling old mask shop. Everything in Venice had a secret. Including her.
Ali wanted to come. William threatened to tail her.
She shut them all down.
> "This is my war. I end it my way."
---
Inside the Safehouse
The building was cold. Dim lighting. A single lamp flickering over a long, antique table.
She entered with her Glock out.
> “You have 30 seconds to make me not kill you.”
From the shadows, a figure stepped out.
Not Sinclair.
But someone connected. Dressed in dark gray, mid-thirties, Italian. Sharp jaw, slicked-back hair — former MI6, now black market data broker.
He slid a folder across the table.
> “You wanted the truth.”
She didn’t sit. She opened it.
Photos. Documents. Surveillance logs.
Sinclair — with someone from the Ferrari family. Leonardo.
Whispers of a deal.
A deal made before the mission in Italy.
Her heart didn’t break. It calcified.
> “Why should I believe you?” she said, voice like venom.
> “Because if you don’t… you’ll end up trusting a man who sold you out before he touched you.”
She said nothing.
> “They planned to use you, to trap the Balkan network. But Sinclair... changed the plan. The problem is, you were never supposed to survive.”
She closed the folder slowly.
> “And what does he know now?”
> “That you walked away alive. He doesn’t know the rest.”
She smiled — but it wasn’t kind.
> “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
---
Outside – Canal Shadows
She walked out of the safehouse like a queen exiting her throne room. Fury in her veins. Power in her heels.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
One word:
> “Isabella.”
It was him.
Sinclair.
She didn’t answer.
She deleted the message and dropped the phone into the canal.
She’d buy another. She owned the tower anyway.
She looked out across the city of masks, and whispered to the water:
> “Let the game begin again.”
---
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. ************...
