ella

eeze off the East River. My safe house, hidden deep within a working canning factory in the New York Port District, was cold a

ct place to dism

brass and ebony. Dante thought I was nothing more than a pawn, a *Mafia Wife* whose only purpose was to breed and look pretty at

taking my

the system's foundation years ago. Silently, the protocol scrambled the encrypted routing maps for every arm

angover, would scoff. He'd blame the machines, order engineers to fix it, and sneer that my little "strike" was pathetic. He would assu

lanner rang. It was time for Marta to

he desk, a mother's desperate instinct screaming at me to c

(It's no longer my job), I w

rn medicine. The Capos' Friday ledgers. The gifts for next week's Chicago *sit-down*. Picking up his tailored su

e paintbrush. When I told her it would ruin her dress, she had pouted. *"Aun

veins. If I didn't tear this family apart from the outs

ring my name when he couldn't find his imported pills, cursing my "petty" absence. He wouldn't realize his life was already ble

the telegraph machine. It wa

ite brokers and smugglers. A high-bounty cipher from Al Capone's South Side C

aveled beautifully. I didn't steal the contents; I simply broadcasted the fi

dead silent. Th

ife as a private transmission click

you were dead. The Five

last remnants of Isabella Moretti fading

ing. Now, I

walk into the Moretti Tower and force his advisor to sever the final leg