Victoria shrugged her black leather jacket on, which she paired with a white tank top and skin tight denim jeans that clung to the curves of her body. She slipped on some sliders before she exited the small safe house on the outskirts of Venice.
The safe house was one of many properties that Victoria had acquired over the years. It was a small beige townhouse that blended into the background of the quiet Italian alley way. The cobblestoned street was gently lit by a small lamp post. The trickle of light added warmth to a somewhat small, isolated street. Victoria had no need for guards to trail her and simply sent a text off advising them to hold back. The brackets were supporting her black motorcycle that was parked by the door entrance. She rubbed her arms as the evening chill glided across her skin. She heavily exhaled as the stress and anxiety finally creeped in.
Victoria had made her way to the heart of Venice, where the timeless romance of the city met the thrilling pulse of adventure. When she was on her motorcycle, she was a blend of elegance and daring. With hair as dark as the midnight waters of the Grand Canal and eyes that sparkled like the stars over St. Mark's Square, she was a vision of captivating beauty.
Victoria's motorcycle was a sleek and obsidian beast, its chrome surfaces glinting in the soft Venetian sunlight. The roar of its engine, like a symphony of passion and power, echoed through the narrow, winding streets of this ancient city. It was as if the very soul of Venice had found its voice in the rumbling growl of her bike.
Clad in black leather that seemed to mold itself to her every curve, Isabella looked like a modern-day Venetian vixen. Her leather gloves, adorned with small silver studs, gripped the handlebars. She had the confidence of a woman who knew the labyrinthine streets of Venice like the back of her hand.
As she straddled the motorcycle, her boots, worn from countless missions, tapped a rhythm of anticipation. With a sly smile, she ignited the engine, unleashing its power in a symphony of mechanical fury. The machine came alive beneath her, a roaring beast ready to carry her through the watery alleys and under the enchanting bridges of the city.
With the twist of the throttle, Victoria set off on her journey, the wind whipping through her long, obsidian hair. The scent of saltwater and the echoes of distant gondoliers serenading couples added to the sensory tapestry of her ride.
As Victoria leaned into a turn, the motorcycle responded with grace, a seamless dance between rider and machine. She reveled in the sensation of freedom, the thrill of exploration, and the joy of experiencing Venice from a perspective few could ever imagine.
Through the maze of canals and narrow streets, she rode, her laughter mingling with the echoes of history that whispered from every corner. For Victoria, Venice was not just a city. It was a breathing work of art. For a moment, she felt free and untormented by the past.
Victoria couldn't help but worry. Although she seemed indifferent to the events of the evening, she knew better. There would be questions about their leadership, something their family couldn't afford since the demise of her father. He was a fantastic leader and no one would question his capability. She also knew that her father would not allow people like Luigino to fester in the family. He was a poison that would only corrupt the foundations of what their family had built. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to bear the responsibility that was given to her. Betraying Marcello was not something they would have done. Despite her being far more capable, she was still a woman, clawing her way for respect that was easily given to a man.
With a swift motion, she mounted her motorcycle, removed the hinge, and drove through Venice's streets with the dimmed headlights on. The gentle breeze brushed past her with its might. The frosty evening air, waking her from her deterred thoughts. There was something magnetic she felt when she was on her bike. The adrenaline would rush past her skin and seep into her bones. It was the one time she felt truly free.
Victoria let her mind wonder to her father. He was a good man. She couldn't remember the last conversation she had with him. He died before she had time to say her goodbyes and how much she loved him. His death was quick and fatal. All they gave her was a will stating she would become the leader of the family, and some advice she never shared with anyone, not even her brother, Marcello.
She trusted her brother, but she had seen the power struggle between her father and Giuseppe when she was a child. Something Marcello was too young to register. She was always extremely intelligent and observant as a young child. Victoria could retain information from when she was four years old. Her father would take her to meetings, thinking nothing of it. Except that was far from the truth. She remembered everything, but she held little understanding. It was only when she was an adult was she could understand what her father was doing.
Even if she trusted her brother, she had more trust in the Giordano brothers. For they supported her through thick and thin. Marcello would often question her decisions, which she didn't mind because it challenged her to either justify or adapt her response. At times, it frustrated her, but there was an odd occasion where she could think of a better solution. She recalled how angry Marcello was when she said they were leaving the trafficking trade. He couldn't comprehend why they would get rid of such an expensive revenue. He never even questioned her about it. Marcello simply argued that she was making a mistake.
The Giordano brothers were aware of why she didn't want to continue the business, but she knew it was becoming too risky. She had countless meetings with the police commissioner, who advised that this business was being watched. Victoria cared more for her men than she did about profits. She wouldn't allow them to be scapegoated and arrested for something that she could have stopped. Victoria wanted to take their business into the twenty-first century by investing in technology. This was something that the Giordano brothers were highly skilled in. This only strengthened their bond.
As Victoria reached the heart of the enchanting labyrinth that was Venice, she released the handles of her motorcycle. The hum of her bike trickled smaller vibrations as she slowed her speed to a halt. A small townhouse stood discreetly between ancient bridges and tall palazzos, unaffected by time. The dwelling was quaint, its facade painted a soft, weathered shade of coral, bore the weight of centuries on its timeworn shoulders. However, it kept an enduring charm that whispered secrets of bygone eras to those who dared to listen.
The wooden door of the townhouse was adorned with a brass knocker and had welcomed generations of visitors. A smell of old wood, rose petals, and the sea surrounded Victoria as she moved away from her motorcycle. The dimly lit foyer, with its mosaic-tiled floors that had withered away from the countless footsteps over the ages.
Victoria tapped the brass knocker three times before the door flung open. She hastened her steps and closed the door behind her. The living room, adorned with heavy drapes that filtered the settling Italian moonlight. An array of antique furniture, each piece with its own story to tell. A Venetian glass chandelier hung from the ceiling. It gently cast shimmering reflections across the room, as if to echo the rippling waters of the nearby canals.
A narrow, winding staircase led to the upper floors, where cozy bedrooms overlooked the canals below. From one of the bedroom windows, you could catch glimpses of gondolas gliding by.
But perhaps the townhouse's most enchanting feature was its hidden courtyard. A secret garden concealed behind weathered stone walls, it was a haven of greenery and tranquility amidst the bustling city. Wisteria vines cascaded down from trellises, their purple blooms a delicate contrast to the ivy-covered walls. A weathered wrought-iron table and chairs beckoned you to linger. It was one of Victoria's favourite features of the home.
Victoria was very familiar with the townhouse that she made her way up the winding staircase to the room at the end of the corridor. Hidden within the Italian townhouse was a door which lay a high-tech computer room that seemed to be something you would see in movies. The groundbreaking technology contrasted with the humble abode, which was the historical features of the home, only helping it conceal it's secrets.
The room was awash in an eerie, cool blue glow, emanating from banks of monitors, screens, and LEDs that lined the walls. The air was crisp and conditioned, a stark contrast to the thick humidity of Itay that was beyond this hidden lair.
The centerpiece of this covert command center was a massive, curved desk that seemed to flow seamlessly from one end of the room to the other. The desk had touch-sensitive control panels, holographic displays, and keyboards and touchpads for manipulating digital data.
Hovering just above the desk was two chairs which were occupied by its owners. Its armrests bore an intricate network of buttons, switches, and controls, giving the occupant access to an arsenal of high-tech tools.
The room was a symphony of screens, with video feeds from surveillance cameras all around the house and that of Italy. A giant, curved display dominated one wall, providing an immersive view of the digital world. A hushed hum permeated the room, emanating from racks of powerful servers hidden behind a false wall. These servers were the heartbeat of the clandestine operation, housing vast amounts of data, encrypted communications, and cutting-edge artificial intelligence algorithms.
Security was paramount in this covert sanctum. Biometric scanners guarded access to the room, requiring retina scans and voice recognition to gain entry. It was truly a technological heaven; it was one which Victoria didn't share with anyone but the Giordano brothers, whose eyes did not flicker from the screen in front of them.
Drago, the elder of the two, possessed the rugged charm of a seasoned explorer. His hair, like fields of wheat rippling in the summer breeze, framed a face adorned with a hint of scruff that gave him an air of timeless adventure. His eyes, a brilliant shade of cerulean blue.
In contrast, Rodolfo, the younger brother, exuded an effortless elegance that spoke of an artist's soul. His blonde locks cascaded like liquid sunshine, catching the light of the computer room that made it appear as if he possessed his own personal halo. His eyes, a shade lighter than his brother's, sparkled with a mischievous glint.
Their attire was a harmonious blend of classic Italian style and a dash of Bohemian flair. Drago favoured well-worn leather jackets and rugged jeans, a nod to his love for exploring the countryside on his motorcycle. Rodolfo's clothing reflected his artistic and seaside passions, with billowy linen shirts and tailored trousers. Both men were extraordinarily similar but equally their own person. The two were handsome, rich, and intelligent.
"Evening boys." Victoria nodded as she made her way to one of the unoccupied seats in the room.
"Was wondering when you would show up." Drago muttered as his fingers effortlessly danced across the keyboard as he focused on the screen in front of him.
"I told you pretty boy fratello wouldn't explain things properly." Rodolfo responded, as he rolled his eyes.
"You know he doesn't do well with computers." Victoria defended.
"Yeah, yeah. If Marcello doesn't want to learn the basics, it won't help you, especially since that's where the money is made these days." Drago complained.
"He said you have information on the assassins that attacked?" Victoria ignored their bickering and was eager to get down to business.
"Well, they are assassins, but we're struggling to identify them with the information we have so far. We're gonna need some samples of their skin cells to run some DNA tests. It will take longer to identify the killer as there are no accurate dental records, fingerprints, hair or nail clippings, and they appear to be more psychotic than the typical assassin." Rodolfo groaned.
"But what we know is that this technology is so far advance that even we are struggling to get to terms with it. From what we have analysed, the masks interrupt the data that a government camera would pick up." Drago interrupted.
"But I thought CCTV just captures images?" Victoria responded in a confused tone.
"It does when we are talking about average CCTV cameras. What we are talking about is traffic cams and government surveillance cameras. They are much more complex. It turned images into data, which is then sent to a computer system. These masks can corrupt that data, which causes their image to be incognito. It's as if the mask creates a small computer virus to block out their identity. We can't even see the masks on the government feed. This technology is far more comprehensive than I have ever seen." Rodolfo explained.
"Do we at least know where the technology came from? Is there a thumbprint that we can follow?" Victoria asked.
"Unfortunately, not at this moment. My obvious guess would be China and Japan seeing that they are the ones that are so technologically advanced, but there is no evidence to prove it. We're trying to uncover the programme that is within the masks, but every time we think we have found a way in, the programme evolves and blocks us out. The only thing that is unusual in the data is a small red falcon pops up."
"Red falcon?" Victoria furrowed her brows.
"I know it's ridiculous, but that's all have at the moment." Drago huffed out in frustration. Victoria knew that this new enemy would be a challenge and although this excited him, the irritation lingered.
"Do you have any information regarding the guests that attended the ball this evening?" Victoria inquired.
"That is a simpler question to ask. We are currently hacking into their phones and computer systems as we speak. The programme is running and will show any red flags that we need to be aware of. We have a quick peruse through the basics and compared them with previous data from the other balls. So far there is nothing peculiar. The only new variable is the new family that was invited by the French. Another mafia family from England. They are the only family in which we can not compare." Drago explained.
"The Adams family, I believe?" Victoria quizzed as she leaned back in her chair.
"Yes, the Adams brothers. We've run a basic background and we are just waiting for the more comprehensive details to come through. So far, there is nothing out of the ordinary. Their grandfather started their mafia-"
"Gang, you mean." Rodolfo sniggered. Victoria's lips curved into a small smirk as Drago glared at his brother for interrupting him.
"Mafia, Gang, whatever." Drago shrugged his shoulders. "Their family only really comes onto our radar in the last five years. The younger brother seems to have a lot of connections with the British government. They saved the French from getting locked up as one of their containments was nearly seized."
"Resourceful then." Victoria hummed.
"That was the reason for the Segal family extending an invitation." Drago said in distaste.
"You and Achilles still hate each other, then?" Victoria laughed.
"Of course. He's a pervert coveting my beautiful sister, who is well out of his league. I swear to god he tries to marry you and ill get my knives out." He muttered.
Victoria shook her head and closed her eyes, allowing the darkness to consume her as she drifted off to sleep.
Glossary:
Fratello - Brother