The Mafia Wife's Wicked Payback

I didn't go to the commercial terminal.

I drove my custom-plated Mercedes S-Class directly onto the tarmac of a private airfield, its twin-engine jet waiting like a patient predator.

The Sicily trip, the safe houses, the truce negotiations—it had all been a strategic masterpiece, a shield for the Bellini famiglia. But for me? It was an escape route. I had paid for three. One for them. Two for me.

My Consigliere, Silas, was already waiting on the phone. "The jet is fueled, Donna," he said, his voice crisp. "Monaco, as requested. The casino suite is booked. The accounts?"

"Execute the freeze order on the joint account," I instructed, pulling my laptop from my tote bag. "The minute I'm airborne, I want every liquid asset over fifty thousand dollars that can be tied to a Bellini operation, gone. Move it through the Swiss holdings and into the Monaco trust."

Silas hesitated. "The Don’s operating revenue is volatile, Viola. This will put immediate pressure on payroll. Some of his Capos will be left completely dry by morning."

"Good," I said, fastening my seatbelt. "Let them figure out who their real banker is."

Dante wanted me to be "steel" and "manage" my own safety? Fine. Steel breaks bonds.

He took my spot in the motorcade. I took his treasury. A quarter-million for the Sicily trip, he'd forgotten? I had spent far more. And now, I was taking back every cent, plus interest.

Within minutes, we were soaring over the Atlantic. I opened a bottle of vintage Barolo. I felt lighter than I had in a decade.

[Incoming Encrypted Call: Emilio Bellini (Father-in-law)]

I ignored it.

[Incoming Encrypted Call: Gina Bellini (Sister-in-law)]

I ignored it.

[Incoming Encrypted Call: Boss Dante Bellini]

I smiled and finally hit the accept button.

"Viola! Where the hell are you?" Dante's voice was already ragged with frustration. He was probably still stuck at the New York airfield, waiting for his famiglia jet to taxi.

"Ah, Dante. You're trying to contact me? I thought you were busy being a gentleman."

"Don't play games with me! The bank—what did you do to the main operating account? My Capo in Brooklyn is ringing my ear off, his payroll didn't clear!"

I took a slow sip of the Barolo. "Oh, that old thing? You know, you really should pay better attention to the signatories on your accounts, Don. Since I’m the famiglia’s legitimate front, the papers let me manage the treasury with considerable... flexibility."

"Viola, if you don't unfreeze those funds right now—"

"Or what, Don?" I cut him off, my voice turning icy. "You'll send me on an unprotected commercial flight through hostile territory? Already tried that. You're out of threats."

There was a heavy silence on the line, the kind that meant his rage had turned to cold, dangerous calculation.

"You've chosen a very risky path," he finally growled. "You're cutting off the famiglia’s oxygen, Viola. We’re going to bleed."

"You already started bleeding when you replaced me with your childhood obsession, Dante," I said, my gaze fixed on the lights of the city below. "I'm just stopping the internal hemorrhage. After all, if I'm no longer your shield, I have no reason to be your banker."

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"Somewhere far from where I'd be stepping on your mother’s heels in Sicily," I chirped. "I've decided to have a little vacation for myself. I hear the roulette tables in Monaco are quite... engaging."

"Monaco? Are you insane? That’s Giordano territory! You can't just—"

"Ah, Giordano," I interrupted, enjoying the panic in his tone. "Funny thing about that. I negotiated a ceasefire with them last month for this famiglia. Did you forget? I have a direct line to their Donna."

I ended the call, turned off the phone, and signaled the flight attendant for another glass.

The famiglia was bleeding. And I was finally free.