Betrayed Heiress: Marrying The Ruthless Mafia Boss

Isabella POV

An hour after leaving the biting wind of Fifth Avenue, the scent of expensive perfume was replaced by the suffocating stench of cheap bleach and damp concrete. I stood in the basement of a 24-hour laundromat in Queens. I had used Victoria’s untraceable black card to withdraw a small fortune from an underground ATM, paying off the tow-truck driver for his silence and the key to this hidden cybercafe.

Inside the wire-mesh cubicle sat a heavily modified terminal. I bought a single bottle of water from the humming vending machine. Then, I looked at the black plastic card in my hand—the ultimate symbol of the Russo family's hypocritical mercy.

I folded it in half. The crisp snap of the plastic echoed in the cramped space like a breaking bone. I dropped the jagged pieces into the stained trash can. The bridge was burned. My *Vendetta* required absolute starvation of my past; I would accept no scraps from my enemies.

I sat at the terminal, my fingers flying across the greasy keyboard. I bypassed the standard nodes and plunged into the dark web, logging into *The Commission's Ledger*.

The screen bled black, and instantly, a pulsing, blood-red banner hijacked the interface.

BOUNTY: $50,000,000.00.

TARGET: Any verifiable lead on the physician known as 'Dr. X'.

CLIENT: Dante 'The Ghost' Meltoni.

The pieces violently clicked into place. The military-grade ambush on the highway. The suffocating gaze from the silver Phantom. The silent intervention at Bergdorf Goodman. Dante Meltoni wasn't trying to kill me; he was hunting me. He was tearing New York apart to find the one person who could save his grandfather, Arturo Meltoni.

I knew exactly what was killing the Patriarch. It wasn't an illness; it was the Prometheus toxin, a signature poison of The Syndicate. And I was the only living soul who possessed the cure.

I leaned back, the green glow of the monitor reflecting in my cold eyes. I didn't want his fifty million dollars. I wanted his *Soldiers*. I wanted his absolute, terrifying authority to wipe the Russo and Conti families off the map. Dante Meltoni was the most dangerous man in New York, and I was going to forge him into my personal weapon.

I opened a heavily encrypted channel, shifting into my second skin: *Cipher*. The untraceable information broker. I routed the signal through a dozen international proxies, slipping right past the Meltoni family's digital perimeter. I could almost picture his *Underboss*, Luca Verratti, scrambling as my message forced its way onto Dante's private terminal.

*I know where Dr. X is. I only speak to you.*

I watched the blinking cursor. Ten seconds passed. Then, a reply materialized, devoid of hesitation.

*Time, place.*

A dark smile touched my lips. I typed my terms.

*Tomorrow. 10:00 AM. The Meltoni Estate. I will bring the proof he needs.*

I wiped the terminal, leaving no digital footprint, and walked back up to the street.

The Manhattan night had fully settled. I stood under the amber glow of a streetlamp, the Bergdorf Goodman shopping bag—my armor for tomorrow—heavy in my hand.

My burner phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a text from Mia.

*Mom left leftovers. Don't be late.*

I stared at the pathetic, condescending words. They still thought I was the broken girl they had sent to a cage. I pressed my thumb against the screen and hit delete.

I will never eat anyone's leftovers again.