All Chapters of The Donna Scorecard: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

Sofia did exactly what I expected: she ran straight to Marco.When he returned to the penthouse, I was packing."Why did you hit her?""She entered my office without permission, ruined project documents, and tried to strike me first.""She was only delivering something for me.""She finished the delivery and refused to leave."Marco frowned."She just started at the foundation. She doesn't understand the family's rules yet. You're the chief investment adviser. You could have called security.""So she can destroy a contract worth tens of millions, and I'm expected to excuse it because she's young?""I'll make her compensate the company.""Can she afford it?""Do you have to speak like that?""I asked a practical question.""That is exactly your problem. Everything becomes a calculation. You measure risk, assign value, and force everyone to meet your standards."His impatience was unmistakable."Sofia is an intern trying to prove herself. She doesn't have your experience, and she can't h

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

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

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