Chapter 5: wolves within
913 Words
Perspective – Isabella Moretti
It was supposed to be a victory.
After the Syndicate Summit, Isabella returned to Manhattan not as a disruptor—but as a crowned successor. The streets whispered her name with a different tone now. Less fear, more awe.
And yet, the moment she stepped into the Moretti estate, the air shifted.
It was too quiet.
Too clean.
Too… staged.
Lucian noticed it first.
“Where’s Matteo?” he muttered, scanning the foyer. “He was supposed to debrief us. And Rosa—she should’ve been waiting.”
Isabella tightened her grip on her gloves. “Find them. Now.”
---
Perspective – Rosa Marín
Rosa’s mouth tasted like copper. Her wrists ached from the ropes. Blood dripped steadily from the corner of her forehead.
They’d taken her and Matteo as soon as the jet touched down. Five men in Moretti black — but they didn’t speak like soldiers. They didn’t move like Moretti.
They weren’t soldiers.
They were wolves in her house.
Matteo had fought. Killed one with a broken glass. The others swarmed him. She didn’t know if he was alive.
Now she hung by her arms in the cellar of her own estate, stripped of her gun, phone, and dignity. Somewhere above, muffled footsteps echoed.
They were waiting for Isabella to return.
And Rosa prayed — not for herself, but for anyone foolish enough to cross the Queen of Ashes tonight.
---
Perspective – Isabella Moretti
“Check the surveillance,” Isabella said as they entered the war room. “All of it. If there’s a mole—”
“There’s not just a mole,” Lucian interrupted, holding up a blinking device. “There’s a virus. Someone’s been erasing footage, masking movements. This is professional.”
Isabella’s jaw clenched. “Internal betrayal.”
“Only someone high-level could install that without tripping alarms.”
A quiet knock came at the door.
A young soldier — Enzo — barely nineteen, stepped in.
“Boss… there’s something you should see. Cellar level.”
---
The Cellar
The moment Isabella descended the stairs, she smelled the blood.
The lights flickered. Chains clinked.
And then she saw her — Rosa, beaten but breathing. Eyes defiant.
Isabella rushed forward, slashing the restraints with her blade.
“Who did this?”
Rosa winced. “Your house is infected. They called themselves the Black Teeth. Ex-Moretti, ex-Bravelli, ex-everything. Mercenaries.”
Isabella helped her up. “Where’s Matteo?”
Rosa hesitated. “They took him. Said he’d be the message.”
Isabella’s eyes darkened. “Then let’s answer.”
---
Combat Sequence – The Raid
Lucian led the assault with tactical precision.
Seven operatives. Three vehicles. Two minutes to storm the Eastside warehouse.
Intel suggested the Black Teeth had moved Matteo there, using it as a temporary command post.
They approached under cover of night. No sirens. No announcements. Just steel and silence.
At Isabella’s signal, they breached.
Gunfire erupted.
Lucian swept the left flank with suppressed fire. Two down.
Isabella dove through shattered glass, landed on her knees, and slit a man’s throat with a karambit in one clean motion.
The warehouse lit up with chaos — muzzle flashes, blood spray, bodies dropping.
Then she saw him — Matteo, tied to a chair, bleeding but alive.
A man stood behind him. Tall. Scarred. Smile carved into his cheek.
“You’re late, principessa,” he sneered, pressing a blade to Matteo’s throat.
Isabella didn’t blink.
She dropped her gun.
“You want leverage?” she said. “I’ll give you one chance. Take it and walk out.”
The man chuckled. “You forget who holds the knife—”
He never finished the sentence.
Because Lucian shot him between the eyes before the second syllable fell.
Matteo screamed as the man collapsed, the knife grazing his throat but missing the artery.
Blood trickled.
But he was alive.
Isabella moved in, cut him free.
“You always bring the drama,” she whispered.
Matteo coughed a laugh. “Just making sure you never get bored.”
---
Back at the Estate – One Hour Later
The bodies were burned.
The virus removed.
The traitors executed.
But something heavier lingered.
Not guilt.
Not grief.
It was realization.
“They got close,” Lucian said as he cleaned his blade. “Too close. They knew our protocols. Our movements. That means there’s someone else, still inside.”
Isabella nodded slowly. “Then we change the game.”
She stood, walked to the war table, and slammed a new map onto it — one detailing not territory, but people.
Every high-ranking name. Every captain. Every enforcer.
“From now on,” she said, “we don’t protect power. We interrogate it.”
Lucian met her eyes.
And for the first time, he saw not Isabella Moretti…
But something else.
Something colder.
Something unstoppable.
---
Perspective Shift – Damian Vale
Back in Lisbon, Damian watched the flames of a candle flicker over a photo: Isabella, standing over the corpse of the Scarred Man, blood painting her cheek.
“She survived,” Contessa said behind him.
“She thrived,” Damian corrected.
Contessa lit a cigar. “You expected her to die.”
“I expected her to struggle,” he said. “Instead, she’s galvanizing. The city bends for her. That wasn’t the plan.”
Contessa exhaled smoke. “Then make a new one.”
Damian watched the flame consume the photo.
“I intend to.”
- Writer
