SOLD TO THE RUTHLESS MAFIA

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."