PART 1-Sabotage
Location: Midtown Financial District-D'Angelo's Front Bank
At precisely 2:30 a.m., the vault alarm failed.
The guards-two ex-military bruisers-were taken out in silence. Gianna slit one's throat; Domenico strangled the other. No bullets. No bodies left behind.
Inside the lobby, Isabella strode across the marble floor like she owned the place.
"This is D'Angelo's last clean account," Santo whispered, working a laptop from the reception desk. "If we wipe this, he's going to choke."
"Good," Isabella said. "Choke him slow."
Fpm her coat, she pulled a burner phone and tapped a present. On the other end, Ricci's accountant-now in her pockets thanks to a video Nico arranged-picked up.
"You have fifteen minutes to transfer everything from D'Angelo's trust into a dead account. After that, you vanish."
The voice stammered. "And if i don't?"
"I send your daughter the security footage from the Bangkok deal," Isabella said flatly. "And your wife."
Click.
Nico looked up from the security monitors. "Remind me not to piss you off."
"You already did," she murmured. "You jus made yourself useful fast enough."
By 2:19 a.m., the funds were gone. The account was dust. The trash can behind the desk.
":Let's make this look like a robbery."
As flames danced across the glass doors, she whispered:
"One empire down."
PART 2- FLASHBACK: THE BLOODLINE BREAK
FIVE YEARS AGO-MORETTIESTATE, PRIVATE CHAPEL
Vittorio Moretti knelt before altar, alone.
It was the night after a failed vote-a meeting where Matteo had publicly declared he wanted out of the syndicate life. He wanted to cut ties with Ricci, stop laundering blood money through schools and hospitals. Matteo had used words like reform, morality, and change.
Vittorio had heard one word: weakness.
"You would trade the crown for a conscience," he muttered bitterly. "You shame your ancestors."
Behind him, Luca steeped into the shadows, carrying a folder.
"It's done", he said.
Vittorio didn't turn. "How?"
"poison. Delivered by a girl he trusts. Quiet. Undetectable."
"She doesn't even know she's the weapon."
Vittorio's hands clenched the pew in front of him.
"He was my son."
Luca hesitated. "You gave the order."
"I gave the family the future," Vittorio snapped. "I did what Matteo wouldn't. I protected us."
He finally turned, face unreadable.
"History won't remember the good men. it remembers the ones who chose survival over sentiment."
Luca nodded.
"And Isabella?"
"she's still a child. Give her grief, will mold her into loyalty."
But Vittorio had underestimated grief. He'd underestimated Isabella.
Because grief hadn't made her loyal.
It had made her ruthless.
Back in the present, Vittorio sat in his office, staring at a burning image of D'Angelo's destroyed bank on his phone screen.
"she's coming for me," he whispered.
Enzo looked up. "What should we do?"
Vittorio lit a cigar. "We remind her who made her."