Elena Vitiello POV:
"Sofia escaped. The hunt begins."
I stared at the glowing screen of my phone. The temperature in my blood dropped to absolute zero.
A phantom chill crawled up my spine. The damp, metallic smell of the Chicago basement filled my nose for a split second. The memory of being locked in the dark, betrayed and bleeding, triggered an immediate, violent defensive response in my muscles.
I didn't throw the phone. I didn't scream.
I kept my breathing steady. I took a screenshot of the anonymous text message. I opened an encrypted messaging app and forwarded the image to my top-tier proxy hacker in Europe.
I typed a single command.
"Trace the physical IP of this proxy server. You have three minutes."
I hit send. I placed the phone face down on the polished mahogany desk.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of expensive leather and lemon polish in my Manhattan office. I forced the dark, violent urge to kill back down into my chest.
I opened my eyes. I reached out and picked up the heavy black leather folder sitting on the edge of my desk.
Inside were the printed ledgers. The undeniable proof of the New York Elder Council’s embezzlement.
A sharp knock sounded at my door.
Julian pushed the door open. He walked in, his tailored suit immaculate, holding a stack of fresh documents.
"The latest customs clearance forms, Mrs. Moretti," Julian said, his tone brisk and professional.
I took the documents from him. My eyes scanned the barcodes and the official stamps.
The high-grade medical tech cargo that the Elders had secretly ordered to be seized was now completely released. It was safely sitting in our warehouses.
Julian watched my face. He noticed the icy, rigid set of my jaw.
"Do you need to postpone the afternoon council meeting?" he asked quietly.
I let out a cold, sharp laugh.
"Postpone?" I asked, my voice dripping with venom. "No. Tell them we are moving it up. I want to walk in ten minutes early."
I grabbed the black leather folder. I stood up, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.
I walked out of the office. Eight men in black suits were waiting in the hallway. They immediately fell into a tight, protective formation behind me.
We took the private elevator down to the Outfit headquarters' main conference level.
The heavy oak doors of the meeting room stood at the end of the hall.
My lead guard pushed them open. The thick wood groaned, a heavy, scraping sound that echoed in the cavernous space.
The low hum of conversation stopped instantly.
Twelve Elders sat along the sides of the massive conference table. They turned their heads. Their eyes raked over me. I saw the contempt, the judgment, the arrogant assumption that I was just a pretty liability.
Dante sat at the head of the table.
He was leaning back in his leather chair, flipping a silver lighter open and closed. *Click. Clack.*
His blue eyes bypassed the twelve powerful men in the room and locked entirely on me.
I ignored the hostile stares of the Elders. I walked straight to the right side of the table.
I pulled out the chair directly next to Dante—the seat of the Underboss, the second-in-command. I sat down.
Elder Silvio leaned forward. His face was wrinkled with false concern.
"Mrs. Moretti," Silvio sneered, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "I heard your little pet project at the docks ran into some trouble. It is a shame your interference is costing the family so much money."
The other Elders murmured in agreement. They were circling me like vultures, trying to apply psychological pressure to force me to step down.
I sat perfectly still. I didn't speak.
I raised my left hand and rested it on the table. My thumb slowly stroked the massive pigeon-blood ruby ring on my finger.
I let them talk. I let them dig their own graves.
When the room finally fell quiet, waiting for my defense, I picked up the customs documents Julian had given me.
I tossed them onto the center of the long table. They slid across the polished wood and stopped right in front of Silvio.
"The cargo was cataloged and stored in our warehouse thirty minutes ago," I said, my voice eerily calm. "We haven't lost a single cent."
Silvio’s face paled for a fraction of a second. He quickly recovered, puffing out his chest.
"Well, then you should thank me," Silvio lied smoothly. "I made a few discreet calls to my contacts at Customs to fix your mess."
A lethal intent flared in my chest.
I opened the black leather folder.
"Cayman Islands," I read aloud, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Account ending in 4409. Account ending in 8112. Account ending in 9004."
Silvio froze. The smug look melted off his face.
I looked up from the paper, locking eyes with him. I read off the exact dollar amounts of the funds he had siphoned from the family over the past five years.
Silvio jumped to his feet. He moved so fast his heavy chair tipped backward and crashed onto the floor.
"Lies!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
I reached into the folder. I pulled out three high-resolution photographs.
I flicked my wrist. The photos spun across the smooth surface of the table, fanning out for everyone to see.
They showed Silvio sitting in a dimly lit booth, shaking hands with the boss of a rival Russian syndicate.
The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.
The other Elders stared at the photos. Sweat beaded on their foreheads. They physically shrank back in their chairs, refusing to meet my eyes.
I stood up. I placed both hands flat on the table, leaning forward.
"Silvio," I commanded, projecting my voice to every corner of the room. "You are stripped of your seat. Your assets are seized. Your bloodline is removed from the council."
Silvio’s eyes darted wildly. He looked at Dante.
"Boss!" Silvio begged, his voice trembling. "You can't let this outsider, this Chicago bitch, frame me! I have served this family for thirty years!"
Dante leaned back. A cruel, terrifying smile curved his lips.
"The Queen has spoken," Dante said softly. "Her word is my law."
The doors burst open. Dante’s enforcement squad flooded the room.
They grabbed Silvio by the arms. He screamed and kicked, but they dragged him out of the room like a sack of garbage.
I stood tall at the head of the table. I looked at the remaining eleven Elders. None of them dared to breathe. Absolute dominance settled over the room.
I turned my head and looked at Dante.
His eyes were dark, burning with pride and a raw, obsessive lust.
"Well done, my Queen."
