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Chapter 2
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The Donna Scorecard Chapter 8
Three years later, I stood on the terrace of my villa in Positano, watching my daughter, a dark‑haired, fierce‑eyed toddler named Chiara, chase a butterfly through the lavender bushes. Matteo was inside, reviewing quarterly reports, but he would emerge soon to join us for dinner.My father had passed away six months earlier, peaceful in his sleep. I had inherited his seat on the Commission, becoming the first woman to hold that position in the organisation's history. It was not a ceremonial role; I had the authority to broker peace, declare war, and shape the future of the underworld.And I used that authority wisely, because I had learned that power was not about revenge. It was about legacy.Marco's name was seldom mentioned anymore. He had become a cautionary tale, the man who had everything and lost it because he could not recognise the difference between a partner and a tool. I heard he was found dead in his penthouse two months after my wedding, ruled as alcohol poisoning, though
The Donna Scorecard Chapter 7
The next morning, I flew to Positano.Matteo Ferrari met me at a cliffside villa that overlooked the Amalfi Coast: a sprawling white mansion with terraced gardens and an infinity pool that seemed to pour directly into the sea. He was younger than I expected, thirty‑two, with dark hair and a gentle smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He had the Ferrari intensity: a watchfulness that came from growing up in a family that had survived two civil wars and a dozen assassination attempts."Elena." He extended his hand. "Welcome."I shook it. His grip was firm but not aggressive. "Thank you for inviting me.""Inviting you? My father has been planning this wedding since I turned twenty‑five. I'm just the groom." He gestured toward the terrace. "Come. We'll have lunch and pretend we're normal people."Over a meal of fresh seafood and local wine, we talked business. He was the Ferrari family's chief strategist, responsible for their legitimate holdings: hotels, vineyards, a small airline tha
The Donna Scorecard Chapter 6
I did not rest. I spent the night in my old bedroom, which had been preserved exactly as I left it: a teenager's room with a desk, a bookshelf full of crime novels and financial textbooks, and a window overlooking the olive groves. I opened my laptop and began the methodical work of dismantling Marco's infrastructure.The first thing I did was compile a comprehensive dossier on every Fontana business interest that I had helped build. There were dozens: the shipping consortium that controlled two‑thirds of Sicily's container traffic; the port concessions in Naples that I had negotiated with the port authority's corrupt director; the investment funds that laundered money through real estate in Milan and Rome; the offshore accounts in Luxembourg and the Caymans that held the family's liquid wealth. I had the account numbers, the signatory codes, the contacts at every bank and law firm.I drafted a second wave of emails, these not to the banks, but to the elders. The old men who had voted
The Donna Scorecard Chapter 5
The Moretti estate sat on a hill overlooking the Ionian Sea, a fortress of pale stone and iron gates that had belonged to my family for four generations. My father had modernised the interior: bulletproof glass, biometric locks, a command centre that would make a general staff envious, but the exterior remained medieval, a deliberate reminder that the Morettis had outlasted every rival, every informant, and every government that had tried to topple them.When my car passed through the gates, I saw him waiting on the portico. Antonio Moretti was seventy‑three, with silver hair cropped close to his skull and the kind of stillness that came from decades of deciding life and death with a nod. He did not embrace me. We had never been that family. But he inclined his head and said, "You look thin.""I've been eating Fontana cooking," I replied. "It's mostly resentment and cheap wine."His mouth twitched, the closest he came to a smile. "Come inside. The Commission's representative is already
The Donna Scorecard Chapter 4
The private jet lifted off from Palermo as the sun bled into orange over the Tyrrhenian Sea. I watched the Sicilian coast shrink to a smudge of gold and limestone, then vanish into the haze. Seven years of my life had dissolved into that vanishing point: every port I had secured, every elder I had cajoled, every bullet I had quietly deflected so Marco Fontana could sleep through the night. And none of it had been real.I did not cry. I had not cried since I was twelve, when my father sat me down in his study and explained that Moretti women did not weep in front of witnesses. Tears were evidence of weakness, and weakness was a currency the underworld spent without mercy. Instead, I opened my encrypted tablet and reviewed the cascade of notifications that had already begun pinging from the Fontana family's financial ecosystem.The first shockwave had hit within thirty minutes of my resignation email. Three shipping lines that I had personally vetted and guaranteed had frozen Marco's con
The Donna Scorecard Chapter 3
Marco did not return the money within twenty‑four hours.Late that night, Sofia sent me a contact request. The moment I accepted it, several photographs appeared.In the first, she sat beside Marco in the blue dress. The second showed two glasses of whisky with the Fontana family's Donna ring between them.Beneath the last photograph, she had written:Marco says he'll announce the latest scores tomorrow night. Guess whose hand the ring will end up on?I did not reply. I forwarded the photographs and the bank transfer record to my attorney, then revoked Marco's emergency access to my private account.The next morning, I went to the Fontana family's private club.The original marriage certificate and several personal legal documents were kept in the family safe. Since I had decided to leave, I intended to take everything that belonged to me.The manager told me the safe required Marco's authorisation. He was upstairs with several family members.As I approached the private room, laughter
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