Madrid, Spain — Twelve years ago The storm rolled in over the city like a slow-moving beast, its belly full of thunder. Rain slicked the cobblestones of the villa courtyard, but no one dared leave. Not yet.Not until the deal was done. A beneath the awning, her black shawl pulled tight against her shoulders. Her name was Isabel Varela, and in Madrid’s underground, her name stirred both reverence and dread.She had once run half of the city's cartel network with no husband, no heir, and no apologies. But tonight, her silence was louder than any gunshot.In her hand, she held a sealed envelope.Inside it was a deal.Not with the Spanish cartels. Not with the Moroccans who had tried to court her with silver and diamonds.But with Dante Romano — the Sicilian devil himself.Her enemies thought she was stepping back. Thought she was going like all queens eventually did.But they didn't know she was already playing her last card — and it wasn’t for herself. It was for her daughter.From
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