When the Mafia's Hacker Wife Strikes

The beating only stopped when someone in the crowd shouted, pointing at the blood soaking through my skirt.

They scattered in a panic, as if they'd seen a ghost, leaving two unfortunate city workers to nervously call an ambulance.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness on the stretcher.

"Her blood pressure is dropping!" the paramedic shouted. "We need a transfusion, now!"

The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the Leone family's private clinic. This was supposed to be my safe harbor, a sanctuary for any family member who was hurt.

But when the stretcher was pulled from the ambulance, three bodyguards in black suits blocked the entrance.

"Sorry, the clinic's booked solid today."

The lead guard blocked our path, his hand drifting toward the butt of the gun on his hip.

"Miss Chiara is being treated for shock. No one is to disturb her. Understood?"

The sharp pain in my abdomen made it almost impossible to breathe. Warm blood was still flowing from between my legs, soaking the white emergency blanket.

"What do you mean?" the paramedic demanded, pushing at the guard. "This is an emergency! The patient needs surgery immediately!"

The guard's eyes swept over me as if I were a corpse. "Listen, pal," he said, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. "Let me spell it out for you."

"This clinic answers to Falcone and Vizzini now. We take our orders from them, and them alone."

"So get the hell out of here if you want to live. Don't make me get serious."

I floated between a haze and clarity, hearing the argument outside. For the tiny life inside me which was the only hope I had left, I used my last ounce of strength to shakily dial Raphael's number.

"I did the humiliating things you asked of me."

"Now I'm hurt, right outside the clinic. If you still want this child, you'll let me in."

"Catherine, enough," Raphael's voice was laced with impatience, as if I were a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. "You'd really stoop to this? Lying about a miscarriage just to guilt-trip me?"

"Chiara is traumatized and needs the best care, and you pull a stunt like this to steal the spotlight? Claiming you're having a miscarriage? That's not just ridiculous, Catherine. It's pathetic."

"What?" The blood in my veins turned to ice. "You think I'm lying?"

"You can't be pregnant. We haven't slept together in three months," he said, his tone a death sentence. "Don't use these tricks to get sympathy."

"Be good. We're settling a debt. An honorable one. Once it's paid in blood, Luca and I will be back. We'll rebuild the Leone empire."

"You're still our most precious princess."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He had hung up on me.

My last thread of consciousness snapped. I passed out completely.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a dingy public hospital room that reeked of disinfectant.

It was a world away from the family's private clinic. The walls were peeling, the sheets were yellowed, and the air was thick with the sharp smell of cheap antiseptic.

The old butler, Mario, sat vigil in the room's only chair. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, his kind eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

In this world of betrayal, he was one of the few who still remembered old loyalties.

"Miss Catherine, you're awake," he said, his voice hoarse. He helped me sit up and handed me a glass of water.

"Mario…" My voice was barely a whisper. "The baby…"

"The doctor said you miscarried," he said, gently stroking my hand. His calloused hands were warm. "It's all my fault. I should have protected you."

I closed my eyes as tears slid silently down my cheeks. The little life I never had the chance to announce to the world was gone, vanished in a pool of blood.

Maybe it was for the best. He wouldn't have to come into this world and suffer with me.

"There's something else…" Mario hesitated, his voice trembling like a leaf in autumn. "The old Don passed away early this morning."

The old man, who had served my grandfather for forty years, had tears welling in his eyes.

In that moment, my world stopped spinning.

"What?"

"The nursing home said the old Don got agitated last evening and had a heart attack."

Mario's tone suddenly filled with rage. "I found these in his room. Photos of you... of the mob beating you. Catherine, the Don's death was no accident."

"A nurse told me Chiara was the last person to see him."

The blood in my veins froze solid.

Mario's words were a torrent of information, but all I could hear was that my grandfather was gone.

My last family, the only person in the world who truly loved me, was gone. Murdered. Murdered by that venomous bitch.

"But…" Mario pulled a vintage cigar box from inside his black overcoat. "Before he died, the old Don asked a nurse to give this to you."

The cigar box was heavy, engraved with the Leone family crest: a soaring eagle with an olive branch and a sword in its talons.

With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside, alongside a few priceless Cuban cigars, was a yellowed slip of paper.

Written in my grandfather's strong hand was a single line:

"My little princess, if you need true protection, find the box's secret compartment. Your blood will not be spilled in vain. This is my final play."

Even in the face of death, my grandfather was still looking out for me, still paving a way forward.

My tears finally broke through, and I began to sob.

My grandfather's funeral was held in the Leone family's private chapel.

Raphael and Luca didn't even send a wreath.

I stood alone, facing the representatives of the Five Families, handling all the grim arrangements by myself.

Late that night, I sat before my grandfather's enormous portrait and carefully opened the cigar box's hidden compartment.

Inside, three items were neatly arranged:

A divorce agreement written on the most expensive vellum, needing only my signature to take effect.

A bearer check from a Swiss bank for one hundred million dollars.

And a mysterious phone number, traced over and over with an old Italian fountain pen.

I dialed the number, my fingers shaking.

The phone rang three times before it was answered.

"This is Catherine Leone."

There was a dead silence on the other end.

Then, I heard a deep, authoritative male voice with a heavy Sicilian accent. I could feel his presence, a crushing weight, even through the phone.

"Catherine, my Principessa. I have been waiting for this call."

"Who is this?"

"Lorenzo Gallo. An old friend of the Leone family."

"I've heard about what has happened recently." The voice on the other end of the line turned cold, like a wind from Siberia.

"If they dared to touch a single hair on your head, they should have been bled dry for it."