From Moretti's Asset to Another Queen

The moment my pen lifted from the paper, a soft, mocking laugh came from beside me.

"What is there to be so proud of? You're a nobody. Let's see how you survive without Marco backing you."

"Marco and I are different. With my family's backing, Marco will be running Chicago within a year!"

I paused and shot Isabella a sidelong glance.

A vague memory surfaced—she was the daughter of some family, but I couldn't quite place her.

I tossed the agreement on the table and turned to leave.

Just as I stepped out, Marco called out from behind me.

"Elena, that Russian arms deal you handled today… did you close it?"

I slowly turned back to Marco and smiled.

"I closed it. Then, I sent Mr. Petrov a message canceling our agreement." I added, "Marco, our marriage is over. I have no desire to keep slaving away for the Moretti family. I hope you can understand that."

Marco, a coward all day, finally erupted. "Elena, do you have to be so ruthless?!"

He seethed through gritted teeth as he pulled out his phone to call the client.

The moment the call connected, Marco's face instantly broke into a sycophantic smile.

"Petrov... Mr. Petrov, hello, this is Marco from the Moretti family..."

"Marco? Who the hell are you? In Chicago, I only deal with Elena."

A click, and the line went dead.

Marco tried calling back, again and again, only to be met with the flat tone of a rejected call.

Marco slammed his phone onto the ground, his eyes fixed on me as he roared,

"Elena! Do you know how important that fifty million is? That's nearly a year's income for the family!"

I spread my hands.

"I know. But what does that have to do with me?"

Isabella quickly stepped forward, rubbing Marco's back and cooing softly to comfort him.

"Marco, don't worry. It's just a fifty-million-dollar deal. I'll go back and talk to my grandpa. Never mind fifty million, even five hundred million won't be a problem!"

I turned and walked away with a smile on my lips.

Behind me, Marco's resentful roar echoed.

"Elena, ending this marriage was the right decision! How did I never see what a vicious, disgusting bitch you are?!"

As Marco's curses faded behind me, I called the person who had introduced Isabella to the family.

"Dante, what's the story with that girl you sent over?"

"Her? She's the principessa of the Gallo family—if you can even call them a family anymore. Her grandfather, old Lorenzo, has been begging me for a meeting with you for five years. No dice. So he sent his granddaughter to get close, build a bridge. He wants your network, of course. Figured if you could save the Morettis, you could save the Gallos."

The fuzzy memory snapped into focus.

At several recent underworld gatherings, I remembered him now—the stooped old man bowing before me, a pretty girl trailing in his wake.

A bitter laugh caught in my throat.

So that's all this was. A farce starring two fools, each thinking they were the player. Pathetic.