Monday night, 9 PM. “The Siren’s Song” was lit up like a jewel box.

Vincenzo stood in the center of the main hall, dressed in a custom-tailored black suit.

His men were scattered around, every one of them on edge.

Tonight’s meeting was everything.

The Moretti family’s backing meant Vincenzo could finally plant his flag firmly in New York.

“Is the wine ready?” Vincenzo asked, one last check.

“The 1947 Macallan is ready to go,” Ava answered confidently. She was wearing a black silk gown, a diamond necklace sparkling at her throat. “I told the bartender to go get it.”

A few minutes later, the bartender ran up to them, his face pale. “Boss, Miss Ava… the wine cellar… it won’t open. The display says it’s on Isabella’s biometric lock.”

Ava’s face froze. Vincenzo’s jaw tightened.

At the mention of my name, his expression darkened, but he didn’t say a word.

At 9:20, Ava came downstairs, forcing a look of calm.

“I’m ready,” she said, her chin high. “Mr. Moretti will be impressed by my professionalism.”

At 9:30 on the dot, three black Rolls-Royces pulled up to the club’s entrance.

Ava took a deep breath and smoothed her dress.

She was going to greet the legendary godfather herself.

Prove she deserved the title of “lady of the house.”

But the moment she pushed the main doors open, the entire street was flooded with blinding police lights.

A dozen cop cars and three SWAT trucks swarmed in from every direction, surrounding the club.

“NYPD! EVERYBODY INSIDE, LISTEN UP!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “WE HAVE A WARRANT FOR THIS ESTABLISHMENT BASED ON REPORTS OF ILLEGAL GANG ACTIVITY AND MULTIPLE FIRE CODE VIOLATIONS! EVERYONE OUT! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

Cops in tactical gear stormed the hall.

Ava’s face went white as a sheet.

She stared at the chaos, her legs about to give out.

“No… impossible…” she stammered. “I paid them off!”

Vincenzo’s face was stone.

This was a humiliation.

In front of his most important potential ally, his own territory was being raided by the cops.

“EVERYONE AGAINST THE WALL! GET READY FOR INSPECTION!”

The police started clearing the room as panicked guests scrambled for the exit.

Through the chaos, Vincenzo saw the Rolls-Royce parked across the street.

The window rolled down, revealing the old but sharp face of Don Moretti.

He was watching the whole thing with a cold, analytical stare.

“Dammit!” Vincenzo cursed. “How are there so many cops? That’s the head of the city’s anti-gang unit leading the raid!”

His head snapped around, and he looked across the street to an art gallery. I was standing there, holding a wine glass, watching the show through the window.

“Isabella!”

Vincenzo stormed out of the club, ignoring the cops shouting at him, and ran toward me like a madman.

He threw open the gallery door and saw a sight that made his blood boil.

I was sitting on a sofa, casually sipping red wine.

Like the chaos outside had nothing to do with me.

“Isabella!” He rushed up to me, his eyes burning with fury. “Fix this! Now!”

I looked up at him, my expression as calm as a still lake.

“What problem?”

“The cops! They’ve surrounded the club!” he hissed. “Use your connections. Get them to back off! Immediately!”

I took a small sip of wine.

“Vincenzo, you’re confused about something.”

“What?”

“The Siren’s Song is your club now,” I said, setting down my glass. My voice was pure ice. “And your fuck-ups are not my problem.”

He froze.

“Isabella, this is not the time for jokes! Mr. Moretti is right outside!”

“Then you should probably go handle it,” I said, picking up my glass again. “After all, you’re the man in charge now.”

“You…” He started to say something, but was cut off by a voice from outside.

“Vincenzo?”

An old but powerful voice.

Don Moretti had gotten out of his car and was now standing in the gallery doorway.

He was a tall man. Even in his seventies, he radiated an aura of pure menace.

Four bodyguards stood behind him.

Vincenzo’s face went pale.

“Mr. Moretti, I…”

“This is how you welcome an ally?” the old Don’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You have me step out of my car into the middle of a police raid?”

“No, sir, it’s a misunderstanding…” Vincenzo stammered, trying to explain.

Moretti’s gaze shifted to me.

I stood up gracefully and gave him a slight nod of respect.

“Isabella Rossi,” he said, recognizing me. “Your father’s daughter.”

“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” I replied.

“What are you doing here?” he frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in the club, running things?”

Vincenzo’s face turned even whiter.

“She… she’s not in charge of the club anymore.”

“Oh?” Moretti turned to me. “And why is that?”

I glanced at Vincenzo, then answered.

“Because the place is too small for me. They stole my business and kicked me out,” I said, my voice calm, but every word was a razor’s edge. “So now I have to drink next door.”

The look in Don Moretti’s eyes turned dangerous.

He looked at Vincenzo, then back at the club, surrounded by police.

“I see.”

His voice was heavy with deep disappointment.

The air in the gallery was thick enough to choke on.

Don Moretti looked at Vincenzo, his eyes filled with contempt.

“Young man, let me remind you of something,” he said slowly. “The only reason I ever agreed to meet with you was out of respect for her father.”

He pointed at me.

“Antonio Rossi saved my life.”

Vincenzo’s face was ashen.

“And now you kick his daughter out of her own business?” Moretti continued. “Is this how your generation shows gratitude?”

“Sir, you’ve misunderstood…” Vincenzo’s voice trembled. “Isabella betrayed the family, she was skimming—”

“Shut your mouth!” the old Don’s voice was like thunder. “Do you think I’m blind?”

He turned to me. “Isabella. Tell me the truth.”

I put down my wine glass and looked at Vincenzo’s desperate face.

“Two years ago, I lent him the club my father left me. For free,” my voice was steady and clear. “I covered all the operating costs myself.”

“And then?”

“And then his new pet framed me for skimming, faked the books, and forced me to hand over control.” I let out a small, bitter laugh. “They even demanded I pay them one million, two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. From my own club.”

Don Moretti’s face became a mask of cold fury.

He looked at Vincenzo, who was now sweating through his suit.

“Vincenzo, you have disappointed me greatly.”

“No, sir! Please, let me explain…” Vincenzo dropped to his knees with a thud. “It’s all a misunderstanding! Isabella, please, help me! For old times’ sake!”

I looked down at the man who had once fixed my car in a blizzard.

Now he was kneeling on the floor, begging like a dog.

“‘Old times’ sake’?” My voice was sharp as a shard of glass. “Vincenzo, are you talking about the old times when you fixed my car in a snowstorm, or the old times when you used my father’s club to impress a dancer?”

“Was it when you trashed my cigars? Or when you took my car, spent my money, and let that cheap dancer humiliate me?”

“I gave you loyalty, and you tried to take everything from me. Now that your ‘ally,’ your ‘club,’ and your ‘family’ are all going up in flames, now you remember old times’ sake?”

“Vincenzo, my loyalty is expensive. And you can’t afford it anymore.”

I took out my phone and dialed Mr. Cohen.

“Mr. Cohen, it’s me.”

The call connected. I watched Vincenzo’s face twist in terror.

“Authorize all legal proceedings. Immediately.”

“Isabella, don’t!” Vincenzo lunged for my phone, but Moretti’s bodyguards blocked him.

“Freeze all my assets that have been illegally seized,” I continued into the phone. “The club, the cars, the bank accounts.”

“Understood, Miss Isabella.”

I hung up and turned to Mr. Moretti.

“Sir, this is clearly not the place for our discussion,” I said with a graceful smile. “Would you care to join me at my private estate?”

The old Don let out a booming laugh.

“Of course! I was just thinking I’d like to get away from this police cordon.”

He gave Vincenzo a sarcastic look. “Let’s leave him to deal with the cops.”

As we headed for the door, Mr. Moretti stopped.

“Isabella, I have a proposal.”

“What is it?”

“I’m starting a new enterprise on the East Coast,” he said, his eyes gleaming with shrewd intelligence. “I need a reliable partner.”

“My only partner,” he emphasized.

I glanced at Vincenzo, still kneeling on the floor, then nodded.

“I would be honored.”

The sirens outside grew louder.

Mr. Moretti and I walked toward my Rolls-Royce.

“No! Isabella!” Vincenzo tried to run after me, but his own men held him back.

“Boss, the cops are looking for you!” Marco said in a panic. “We have to deal with this mess!”

I got into the car and watched the club shrink in the rearview mirror.

The flashing red and blue lights seemed like a celebration.

“A brilliant move,” Mr. Moretti said with admiration. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The car pulled away smoothly.

I watched the neon lights of the city blur past, a cold smile on my lips.

Let them off easy? Not a chance.

The police raid was just the appetizer.

I took out my phone and sent a text to Mr. Cohen.

Initiate phase two. The bill for $37.1 million, along with the lawyer’s letter. Send it to every one of Vincenzo’s creditors and allies right now. I want him broke. I want him alone.

After the message sent, I looked at Mr. Moretti.

“Uncle, we’re just getting started.”