The Viper Stepmother’s Mafia Justice Chapter 18
The False War
The next evening, Dominic and I gave Isabella exactly what she wanted.
A war.
We chose the library. Doors open. Voices loud enough to carry down the hall.
“You almost got Mia killed,” I said.
“I had the situation under control,” Dominic said.
“Control? She had a lamp over your daughter’s head!”
“And you broke down a door like a lunatic!”
“Because your security was useless!”
I slammed my hand on the table. The sound echoed through the corridor.
“You’re reckless,” he said. “You always have been.”
“And you’re slow. You always have been.”
“I built this empire—”
“And I saved your children while you built it!”
Silence. Charged.
The hall camera caught Isabella outside. Listening. Barely breathing. Her lips curved.
Then she slipped back to her room and opened her encrypted phone.
The second she left, everything changed.
Dominic caught my waist. Pulled me close. His mouth hit mine before the door shut.
Not soft. Not sweet. A war kiss.
“Did she buy it?” I asked.
“She was practically taking notes.”
I pulled a folded map from inside my jacket. Every Moretti position marked in red. Guard posts. Weapon caches. Supply lines.
All fake.
I smoothed it across the desk.
“Leave this in the study tonight. Unlocked drawer. Top left.”
“She’ll photograph it before dawn,” Dominic said.
“That’s the point.”
“And when Thorne moves on these positions?”
“He finds exactly what I want him to find. Nothing but desert and loaded guns.”
By two a.m., the hallway camera had her. Isabella entered the study. Photographed every page. Then called Vincent.
Vincent took the bait before dawn.
From the study monitors, I watched three convoys hit our fake positions. North warehouse. East cargo yard. Strip-side safe house.
All empty. All waiting.
The north warehouse sealed first. Lights on. Exits locked. Our men struck from above. The east yard followed. Then the safe house.
Vincent had walked into my map like a fool.
By dawn, Vincent lost thirty-seven men. Four lieutenants. Every vehicle he sent.
Not one Moretti bled.
I watched from the study monitors. Dominic ran it from the field.
When the last convoy burned, Dominic called in.
“Clean sweep. Zero losses.”
“And Vincent?” I asked.
“Alive. Running.”
Good. Desperate men made louder mistakes.
Two hours later, Vincent made his.
Isabella’s encrypted phone lit up. Our recorder caught every word.
Vincent’s voice shook with rage. “You told me those positions were real!”
“They were! I photographed the map myself—”
“THIRTY-SEVEN MEN, ISABELLA!”
Silence on the line.
Then his voice dropped low. Cold.
“You have one job left. Kill Dominic. I don’t care how. Do it, or I send someone for you.”
The line went dead.
On camera, Isabella sat frozen. The phone lay in her lap.
I picked up the phone and called Dominic.
“Come home. Gather the family. It’s time Isabella heard her own voice.”
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