The Mafia's Vengeful Queen

The private study in Massimiliano's penthouse offered panoramic views of Manhattan's glittering skyline, the city spread before him like a kingdom he'd inherited but continued to conquer anew each day. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, distorting the lights into impressionistic smears of color against the night.

He sat behind his desk, reviewing reports while waiting for Antonio's arrival. The background check on Tatiana Hayes had been expanded, resources allocated across multiple channels — official databases, unofficial connections, international contacts. Money and influence opening doors that would remain closed to lesser men.

A soft knock preceded Antonio's entrance. Antonio entered with a digital tablet in hand, his expression remained carefully neutral.

"You have something." Not a question. Massimiliano recognized the particular set of Antonio's shoulders when he carried significant information.

"Yes, sir." Antonio placed the tablet on the desk, swiping to unlock it. "Regarding Vera Volkov."

Massimiliano's interest sharpened. For years, the woman had been a ghost, vanished completely the night Alessandro Moretti was killed. His father had been searching for her ever since, obsession disguised as unfinished business.

"Tell me."

"We have confirmation she's alive."

Antonio pulled up a series of documents on the screen. Flight bookings, passport scans, grainy surveillance photos. A scattered puzzle with most of the pieces missing. "Our contact in Interpol flagged an anomaly. Someone using a variation of one of her known aliases, but that wasn't what stood out."

He zoomed in on a low-resolution image from an airport security feed. The bone structure was different. Hair color changed. Even the recorded height was off by a few centimeters.

"She erased herself," Antonio muttered. "Surgery. Full reconstruction. New name, new background, new history. Every official record scrubbed and rewritten."

Massimiliano leaned in, studying the image. The woman in the photo looked younger, what was supposed to be dark hair is now strawberry blonde. This woman in this grainy photo bears no resemblance to the woman he remembered from his childhood yet somehow she looks uncannily familiar.

"This shouldn't have been traceable," Antonio continued. "She covered everything. Medical records, past connections, even fabricated a family history. We only caught this because of a single error. A secondary alias linked to a forgotten bank transaction in Prague. Just luck."

Massimiliano's jaw tightened.

"It wasn't luck," he said. "She got careless. Or she wants to be found. Where is she now?"

"That's the strange part." Antonio hesitated. "Mongolia."

"Mongolia?" Massimiliano's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "That's... unexpected."

"Ulaanbaatar, specifically. She appears to be working with a humanitarian organization focused on sustainable infrastructure." Antonio swiped to another document. "Living under the name Elena Petrov. Established identity, approximately eight years old."

"Before that?"

"Still piecing it together. We have fragments. South Africa, Brazil, possibly Australia. She moves every few years, always with new documentation, always with legitimate professional credentials."

Massimiliano leaned back in his chair, processing this information. Vera Volkov — alive, functional and apparently reinventing herself repeatedly across continents. Not the behavior of someone hiding from ordinary threats. This was the pattern of someone evading extremely powerful, persistent enemies. Or lovers.

"Does she have contact with anyone from her previous life?" The question hung in the air, its true meaning clear to both men.

"No indication of that." Antonio's response was measured. "She appears completely disconnected from former associates, family, or connections."

Family. The word triggered a connection in Massimiliano's mind. If Vera was alive, had been alive all these years, what did that mean for her daughter? The official story had always been that Tatiana Moretti was sent to relatives after her father's death, her mother's disappearance. But if Vera had abandoned her daughter...

"Sir?" Antonio interrupted his thoughts. "There's something else. About Hayes."

"Go on."

"The surveillance at her apartment building has been... complicated. She maintains regular patterns, normal activities, nothing suspicious. But..."

"But?" Massimiliano prompted when Antonio hesitated.

"We've identified at least two individuals conducting counter-surveillance. Professionals. They're watching our watchers."

This confirmed Massimiliano's observation from Nocturne. Tatiana wasn't operating alone.

"Interesting." He drummed his fingers against the polished surface of his desk. "Continue both investigations. I want daily updates on Volkov's activities in Mongolia, and I want to know who's backing Hayes. Focus on connections between them, if they exist."

"Yes, sir." Antonio hesitated again. "May I ask... does your father know about Vera?"

A reasonable question. Lorenzo De Luca's obsession with Vera Volkov was an open secret within their organization, a fixation that had survived decades, occasionally bordering on irrationality.

"No." Massimiliano's response was definitive. "And he won't. Not yet."

He needed to understand the full picture before bringing this information to his father. Lorenzo's judgment became unpredictable where Vera was concerned, and Massimiliano couldn't afford unpredictability — not with so many variables already in play.

"Understood." Antonio nodded, retrieving the tablet. "Will there be anything else?"

"Yes. I want everything we have on the old Moretti organization. Structure, territories, key personnel, particularly anyone who might have survived the purge."

"Anyone specific I should focus on?"

Massimiliano considered for a moment. "Vincenzo Rosetti. Find out exactly what happened to him."

After Antonio departed, Massimiliano moved to the windows, watching rain trace patterns against the glass. The pieces were beginning to form a picture, though its exact shape remained elusive.

Vera Volkov, alive in Mongolia.

Tatiana Hayes, with her perfect cover and professional backup.

The Moretti legacy, supposedly erased but perhaps merely dormant.

And at the center of it all was his father, Lorenzo De Luca, the architect of destruction, the man who had systematically eliminated rivals and consolidated power, all while obsessively searching for a woman who clearly didn't want to be found.

What connected these threads? What pattern was he missing?

Massimiliano's reflection stared back at him from the rain-streaked glass, his face wearing a thoughtful expression. Tatiana Hayes was the key, he felt it instinctively. Something about her had triggered his suspicions from the beginning. It wasn't just about her carefully crafted background, it was something else. Something familiar yet elusive.

If she was connected to the Morettis, if she was somehow working against the De Lucas,what was her endgame? Revenge? Recovery of assets? Intelligence gathering?

But Massimiliano had seen the way she sometimes looked at him, not with hatred, but with amusement, with something close to attraction. It made no sense, complicating what should have been a simple equation. If she was his enemy, why did her gaze linger with something other than contempt? 

It could be a honey trap, he thought. But honey traps, just like in the name, were supposed to be sweet, alluring, designed to disarm a man, not challenge him at every turn. Tatiana wasn't soft, she wasn't pliant. She was sharp edges and veiled taunts. And yet, the way she sometimes looked at him… it didn't feel like an act. Or maybe that was just what she wanted him to think.

And if Vera Volkov had abandoned her daughter all those years ago, what did that mean for Tatiana Moretti's motivations? Could she then be working alone? 

But a more pressing question is if Tatiana Hayes is the same person as Tatina Moretti?

He returned to his desk, pulling up the limited photographs they had of Tatiana Hayes — surveillance images, employee ID, and her sparse and carefully curated social media profiles. Nothing revealing, nothing personal. A ghost with a beautiful face.

Reluctantly, he slowly pulled open the mahogany drawer, the smooth glide of metal runners whispering against the silence. Inside, among neatly stacked dossiers and relics of past conquests, lay a single worn file. He retrieved it, fingers brushing against its aged edges before setting it on the desk and flipping it open. Inside were childhood photos salvaged from the Moretti compound before its destruction.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for some, Lorenzo had kept trophies and records of his conquest. Among them was a family portrait: Alessandro, Vera, and between them, a small girl with fierce eyes and a defiant expression even at seven years old.

He studied the child's face, trying to project it forward through years and changes, comparing it to the woman who served drinks at his bar. The bone structure could match. The eye shape could match. But the image quality made definitive comparison impossible. He sighed heavily, the sound edged with quiet frustration. The pieces were there, scattered before him, but the picture they formed was still unclear.

If Tatiana Hayes was actually Tatiana Moretti, she'd managed what few believed possible — infiltrating the inner circle of the family that destroyed hers. The audacity alone was both impressive and concerning. And somehow, he found that undeniably attractive. 

But to pull this off successfully she would have needed help. Resources. Inside information.

Which brought him back to Vera. Although the matter is made complicated by the report that Vera had not contacted any of her family members ever since she left New York more than two decades ago.

He closed the files as he confirmed his decisions. He would continue his careful pressure on Tatiana, watching for more slips, more confirmations. Meanwhile, his investigation into Vera Volkov would proceed without his father's knowledge.

Two women, mother and daughter, potentially working against his family from different angles. One from within, one from the shadows.

The game was becoming more complex, the stakes higher than he'd initially imagined.

And Massimiliano De Luca found himself, for the first time in years, genuinely intrigued by the challenge.