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.
