Mafia's King Fake Wife

The warehouse stank of rotting fish and spilled diesel fuel, but Special Agent Sofia Martinez had smelled worse during her three years with the FBI's Organized Crime Task Force. What made her stomach clench wasn't the stench-it was the sound of Miguel Torrino's voice echoing through the cavernous space, bragging about the twelve-year-old girls his family had just smuggled in from Colombia.

"Fresh meat for the high-end clients," Miguel laughed, his gold teeth glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. "Virgin kids bring premium prices. Twenty grand each, easy."

Sofia pressed herself deeper into the shadows behind a stack of shipping containers, her Glock 17 steady in her two-handed grip. Through her earpiece, Agent Torres whispered the go-signal she'd been waiting for: "Phoenix is in position. Take them down."

She stepped into the light like an angel of death.

"FBI! Hands where I can see them!"

Miguel and his two lieutenants spun toward her voice, their hands already reaching for weapons. Sofia had expected this-men like Miguel didn't surrender, they fought like cornered rats. Which was exactly why she'd positioned herself behind cover and angled her approach to keep the shipping containers between her and their escape route.

The first man, a scarred giant named Carlos, cleared his .38 revolver from his shoulder holster. Sofia put two rounds center mass before he could aim, the double-tap echoing through the warehouse like thunder. Carlos dropped like a stone, his unfired gun clattering across the concrete.

Miguel dove behind a forklift, screaming in rapid Spanish while his remaining lieutenant, Tony "The Fish" Benedetto, sprayed bullets wildly in Sofia's direction. Amateur. Tony was shooting to intimidate, not to kill, letting his muzzle drift high and right. Sofia waited for him to empty his magazine, counting rounds-fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen-then stepped out and put a single bullet through his forehead.

Tony crumpled, and suddenly the warehouse was silent except for Miguel's panicked breathing.

"Miguel!" Sofia called out, advancing toward the forklift with her weapon trained on its edges. "It's over. Come out with your hands up, and maybe you live to see trial."

"You killed my boys, you FBI bitch!" Miguel's voice cracked with rage and fear. "You know what the Torrino family does to cops who cross us?"

Sofia almost laughed. After three years undercover in the worst neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens, she'd heard every threat these wannabe tough guys could imagine. "Your family's going to be too busy planning funerals to worry about me, Miguel. Starting with yours if you don't surrender in the next ten seconds."

She heard the distinctive sound of a hammer being cocked-Miguel still had fight left in him. Sofia smiled grimly and began counting down from ten, knowing that men like Miguel always chose violence over wisdom.

At three, Miguel burst from behind the forklift, roaring like an animal and firing his chrome-plated .45 automatic as fast as he could pull the trigger. But rage made him sloppy, and fear made him slow. Sofia had already anticipated his move, positioning herself at an angle that would force him to expose his entire torso when he came around the machinery.

She put three rounds into his chest in a tight grouping that would have impressed her firearms instructor. Miguel's momentum carried him forward two more steps before he collapsed face-first into a puddle of oil and blood.

"Phoenix, this is Martinez," Sofia spoke into her radio as she kicked Miguel's gun away from his twitching fingers. "Three suspects down, warehouse secure. Send in the crime scene team."

"Copy that, Martinez. Outstanding work. How are you feeling?"

Sofia looked down at Miguel's lifeless eyes, remembering his casual discussion of selling children, and felt absolutely nothing. "Like I need a shower and a drink. Not necessarily in that order."

Twenty minutes later, Sofia sat in the passenger seat of a black FBI sedan, watching crime scene techs photograph the bodies she'd created. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her tired and strangely empty. Three years of hunting human traffickers, drug dealers, and killers had taught her that the world contained more evil than most people could imagine. Sometimes the only language these predators understood was violence.

Agent Torres slid into the driver's seat, his weathered face creased with something that might have been pride or concern. At forty-five, Torres had been with the Bureau for twenty-two years, long enough to know which agents burned out and which ones went dark.

"You did good in there, Martinez," he said, starting the engine. "Clean kills, no collateral damage, major trafficking ring disrupted. The brass is going to love this."

Sofia stared out the window at the New York skyline, its lights twinkling like stars against the evening darkness. "Just doing my job."

"That's what worries me." Torres pulled out of the warehouse district, navigating through the industrial streets of Red Hook. "You've been doing this job a little too well lately. Three shootings in four months, all righteous, all necessary. But the department shrinks are starting to ask questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"The kind that end with mandatory psychological evaluation and desk duty." Torres glanced at her sideways. "Which is why I'm pulling you off active street operations."

Sofia felt ice form in her stomach. "What? Torres, you can't-"

"I can and I am. You're getting reassigned, effective immediately." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick manila envelope. "Deep cover operation. Long-term infiltration of a major organized crime family. The kind of assignment that could make your career-or get you killed."

Sofia took the envelope with hands that trembled slightly. "Which family?"

"The Romanos. Vincent Romano's been untouchable for fifteen years, but we finally have an opening. His son Dante is getting married to unite the Romano and Castellano families. Political alliance to end a territory war that's been costing both sides millions."

"So?"

Torres smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "So the bride-to-be had an unfortunate accident last week. Car bomb meant for her father killed her instead. Which means there's an opening for a replacement bride."

Sofia opened the envelope and found photographs, financial records, and a detailed psychological profile of a woman she'd never seen before. "Lucia Castellano. Twenty-eight years old, daughter of Roberto Castellano's deceased brother. Educated in Switzerland, lived in Europe for the past ten years. No living relatives who could contradict her identity."

"Because Lucia Castellano died in a skiing accident in the Alps six months ago," Torres explained. "Avalanche. Body never recovered. The Castellano family is keeping her death quiet to avoid appearing weak during the territory negotiations."

Sofia studied the photographs-a beautiful woman with dark hair and intelligent eyes who bore a passing resemblance to Sofia's own features. "You want me to impersonate a dead woman and marry a mafia prince."

"I want you to infiltrate the most powerful crime family in New York and gather enough evidence to destroy them from the inside." Torres's voice was deadly serious. "Vincent Romano has ordered the deaths of forty-seven people that we can prove. His organization generates over a hundred million dollars a year through drugs, weapons, human trafficking, and political corruption. This is our one chance to bring them all down."

Sofia closed the envelope and leaned back in her seat. Three hours ago, she'd been hunting drug dealers in a warehouse. Now she was being asked to abandon her identity and marry a man whose family specialized in murder.

"What about Dante Romano? What's he like?"

"Interesting question," Torres said. "On paper, he's his father's heir-smart, ruthless, educated at Harvard Business School. But our informants say he's been pushing the family toward legitimate businesses. Wants to get out of the drug trade, stop the violence, clean up their image."

"A reformer?"

"Or a man who knows the old ways are getting too dangerous in the modern world." Torres pulled up outside Sofia's apartment building in Queens. "Either way, he's your target. Gain his trust, learn their operations, identify their weaknesses. But remember-no matter how charming he might be, Dante Romano is still a killer. Don't ever forget that."

Sofia climbed out of the sedan, the envelope feeling heavier than it should. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. New identity, new background, new life. Sofia Martinez dies tonight. Tomorrow, you become Lucia Castellano-mafia princess and future bride of the most dangerous man in New York."

As Torres drove away, Sofia looked up at her apartment window, where her cat was probably waiting for dinner and her houseplants were slowly dying from neglect. In twenty-four hours, she'd be living in Vincent Romano's compound, sharing meals with killers, and pretending to love a man she was planning to betray.

She thought about Miguel Torrino's lifeless eyes and the casual way he'd discussed selling children. Then she thought about the forty-seven people Vincent Romano had murdered, and all the innocent lives his organization had destroyed.

Sofia Martinez climbed the stairs to her apartment, where she would spend her last night as herself. Tomorrow, she would become someone else entirely-someone capable of infiltrating the most dangerous family in America and bringing them to justice.

Or dying in the attempt.

Either way, she would sleep soundly tonight. After all, she'd learned long ago that sometimes the only way to fight monsters was to become something even more dangerous.

The only question was whether she'd be able to remember who she really was when this was all over.