The Socialite Drenched The Maid In Champagne — Until The Mafia Boss Saw Who She Was Shielding

Marcello’s jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second, doubt flickered across his arrogant face. He glanced down at Isabella, noticing the irregular fluttering of her eyelids and the pale, bluish tint forming on her lips.

Sophie was right. Without Isabella’s conscious, articulate voice to pass the biometric screening before the Council of Elders, the multi-billion-dollar Moretti trust would remain permanently locked under court conservatorship.

"You think you’re so clever," Marcello snarled, signaling his two bodyguards with a flick of his wrist. "Take the book from her. And bring the injection kit."

The guards lunged forward, grabbing Sophie roughly by the arms and ripping the journal from her hands. Marcello flipped through the aged pages, his eyes darting across complex molecular diagrams, organic chemical equations, and handwritten margin notes.

"Translate it," Marcello ordered, tossing a pre-filled syringe and an ampoule of clear liquid onto the floor at Sophie's feet. "Mix the stabilizer and give it to her. If she isn't coherent in five minutes, you die first."

Sophie knelt down, picking up the glass vial. Her fingers were steady now. The fear that had paralyzed her earlier had been completely burned away, replaced by the cool, calculating focus of a master physician.

"The stabilizer requires a precise ratio," Sophie said, drawing liquid into the syringe with practiced precision. "If the concentration is off by half a milligram, it triggers immediate cardiac arrest. You wanted my father’s life work, Marcello? Here it is."

She stood up, walking slowly toward Isabella under the crosshairs of three automatic rifles. Isabella looked up at her, tears spilling down her weathered cheeks.

"I'm here, Isabella," Sophie whispered gently, leaning in close as she swabbed Isabella's arm with an alcohol pad. "Everything is going to be alright."

"Hurry up!" Marcello barked, stepping within two feet of them, his gun still leveled at Sophie’s head.

Sophie slid the needle into Isabella’s vein—not with the full dose, but with a micro-injection of sterile saline she had swapped from her pocket during the struggle. Then, in one blindingly fast maneuver that no one in the room anticipated, Sophie whipped around, grabbing Marcello’s wrist and driving the remaining concentrated paralytic dose straight through his tailored sleeve into his forearm muscle.

Marcello roared in shock, stumbling backward and firing his weapon wildly into the ceiling. The deafening gunshot echoed like thunder inside the metal warehouse.

"Kill her!" Marcello screamed, clutching his arm as the paralyzing agent began spreading rapidly through his bloodstream, his legs instantly turning to lead.

The two mercenaries raised their rifles toward Sophie.

Before their triggers could be pulled, the massive industrial skylight above the warehouse shattered in a rain of jagged glass and steel cables.

Four flashbang grenades detonated simultaneously in mid-air with blinding, ear-splitting fury.