CHAPTER 1:

The hum of the old refrigerator was the only sound in the tiny apartment on the edge of Laventine's forgotten streets. The place had once been a home.

Now it looked like it was barely holding itself together. Peeling wallpaper curled at the corners, and dust floated in brown shafts of light that streamed through the cracked blinds. The Ricci household hadn't seen better days in years.

Isabella Ricci sat cross-legged on the torn couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, eyes focused on a sea of code. She was deep inside a bank's firewalls, rerouting anonymous transactions for someone she'd never meet in person.

To the world, Isabella was a quiet 28-year-old waitress working night shifts at Lorenzo's Diner. But to the dark web, she was "Sable", the ghost hacker who could disappear into systems like smoke in a storm.

She heard her mother's familiar cough from the kitchen.

"Isa," Maria called weakly, her voice hoarse from years of chain-smoking and heartbreak, "come help me with the groceries."

Isabella blinked and minimized her screen. "Coming, Ma."

She walked into the kitchen and took the paper bags from her mother's trembling hands. Maria looked thinner than usual. Her cheeks had hollowed more than last week. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, but her eyes-always sad-were darker today.

"Did he come back last night?" Isabella asked, her voice quiet.

Maria shook her head and lit a cigarette. "No. Haven't heard a word since yesterday afternoon. I checked the usual places. Nothing."

Isabella's stomach sank. Her father had done it again.

Enzo Ricci was a man of charm and danger. In his younger days, he'd been the type to make women swoon and men follow. But life had a way of dulling the shine off dreams. His charm turned into manipulation, his boldness into addiction.

He was a gambler. Not just for sport-but for survival. And this time, Isabella had a feeling he'd bet more than he had.

"How much did he take?" Isabella asked.

Maria exhaled smoke. "Everything in the savings jar. Even the cash I tucked under the mattress for your dental."

Isabella closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

"What did he say before he left?"

"Just that he had a 'sure win'... that this was the one. That he was gonna fix everything. That he'd make it right."

Isabella had heard it all before. Every lie. Every empty promise.

"Did he say where?" she pressed.

Maria hesitated. "He said something about the 'Valenti game.' I didn't ask for more. Just screamed at him not to go."

Isabella's heart stopped.

"Valenti? As in Dante Valenti?"

Maria nodded slowly, realization dawning. "Why? Who is he?"

Isabella didn't answer. She turned away, heart hammering.

Everyone in Laventine's underbelly knew the name Dante Valenti. The youngest mafia don in decades. Cold-blooded. Calculating. Rumors said he once shot a man for coughing too loud during a poker hand. He didn't just run games-he owned entire networks of debt collectors, hitmen, arms dealers, and nightclubs. If Enzo had stepped into a Valenti game, he hadn't just made a mistake-he'd signed a death sentence.

It was nearly midnight when Enzo stumbled into the apartment.

He reeked of cheap bourbon and sweat, his shirt half-buttoned, his face pale as chalk. Isabella was seated at the table, arms crossed, waiting. Maria was pacing in the hallway, biting her fingernails.

"Where the hell have you been?" Isabella's voice was ice.

Enzo didn't meet her eyes. He dropped into a chair and rubbed his face.

"Don't start, Bella. I... I had to try."

"Try what? Throwing our lives away?"

He groaned. "It was supposed to be different. I had a feeling. I swear. I sat down and I had it-I had the winning hand. And then... he played me. The bastard played me. Full house to a royal flush."

"Dante?"

Enzo nodded. "The man never loses. It's like he sees your soul through the cards."

"What did you bet?" Maria whispered, her voice shaking.

Enzo didn't answer.

"Answer her!" Isabella slammed her hand on the table.

He flinched. "The apartment."

Maria gasped. "Enzo!"

"And... and something else," he muttered.

Isabella's eyes narrowed. "What else?"

He wouldn't look at her.

"What did you bet, Dad?"

"...you."

The word was barely a whisper. Isabella froze.

Maria's knees gave out and she collapsed onto the couch.

"You did what?" Isabella's voice cracked, tears already threatening to fall.

"I had no choice!" he cried. "He raised the stakes and I couldn't fold. I thought-I thought I could win! He said I could buy you back if I win the next round but I lost again!"

"You bet your daughter in a poker game?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Then explain it, Dad. Explain how it's not like that. Explain how you put my life on the table like some goddamn poker chip."

Isabella's breath was shaking. She backed away, fists clenched, head spinning.

"I thought I could win!" Enzo repeated helplessly. "I was gonna fix everything!"

"You didn't fix anything," she hissed. "You ruined it all. For good."

Hours passed. No one slept.

Enzo sat in silence, nursing a drink. Maria cried until her voice disappeared. Isabella didn't say a word. She sat by the window, staring into the darkness. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number.

"He's not answering our calls. Tell him we're on our way to collect."

There was No name. Just the message.

Isabella showed the screen to her father.

Enzo swallowed hard. "Don't open the door. We'll run. We can run, Bella."

"You don't run from Dante Valenti," she said bitterly. "You die tired."

Maria looked out the window. Her face was drained of color.

"They're here."

Isabella turned slowly. Outside, under the flickering streetlight, a sleek black Maserati pulled up to the curb. The engine purred like a beast waiting to strike.

Two men stepped out. Broad. Dressed in black, and armed.

Then the back door opened.

A man stepped out slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored coat. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a king.

Dante Valenti.

Mid-thirties. Sharp jawline. Steel-gray eyes. Hair slicked back, dark as midnight. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He simply watched-as if the world around him existed solely for his amusement.

"Don't move," Isabella whispered, frozen, But her eyes met him across the street.