The map on the table was littered with red ink and cigarette ash by the time Isabella finally straightened up.
Her eyes gleamed coldly as she surveyed the intricate web of arrows and notes she and Alexander had scrawled over the city's streets.
For the first time in weeks, she felt something close to confidence.
"This isn't just about catching her," Isabella said, tapping her pen against a point on the map.
"This is about making her think she's won — right before the floor gives way under her feet."
Across from her, Alexander leaned back in his chair, watching her with faint amusement.
"You've been paying attention," he said.
"You sound almost… dangerous."
Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
"I learned from the best," she shot back.
Later that night, the plan took shape in whispers and shadows.
The bait was simple: a falsified shipment of high-value goods moving through a decoy warehouse — just tempting enough for Katerina to strike.
But the real move was buried beneath layers of misdirection — hidden tunnels, a second team waiting in silence, and explosives rigged to cut off her escape.
"She'll see the trap," Alexander said evenly as they stood in the empty warehouse, going over the details.
"She always does."
"That's the point," Isabella replied calmly.
"She needs to see it — and think she's smarter than it. Let her walk right in, thinking she's outmaneuvered me. And when she does…"
She met his eyes, a glint of steel in hers.
"…we close the jaws behind her."
Alexander studied her for a long moment — then smiled faintly, something sharp and approving behind it.
"I almost feel sorry for her," he murmured.
"Almost."
As dawn broke, the pieces fell into place.
Emilia — her hair pinned up, her dress impeccable, her expression brittle — stood in the safehouse doorway, watching her sister prepare.
"You're really going to do this," she said quietly.
"You're really going to take her down."
Isabella glanced at her over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.
"Are you still with her?" she asked.
Emilia flinched.
"I don't even know anymore," she whispered.
"But if you fail… we both burn."
"Then I won't fail," Isabella said simply.
For a moment, something like respect flickered in Emilia's eyes — but it was gone almost as quickly.
The night of the trap came quickly.
Isabella stood on the catwalk above the warehouse floor, dressed in black, her hair pulled back, her earpiece crackling softly with updates from Alexander's team.
Below her, the decoy shipment sat in place — polished, perfect, and entirely fake.
Alexander's voice came through her earpiece.
"Eyes on her convoy," he murmured.
"Three SUVs, one armored truck. She's coming."
Isabella exhaled slowly, steadying her heartbeat.
"Positions," she ordered quietly, her voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline.
Through the high windows, the faint glow of headlights appeared — creeping closer.
And then — the doors of the warehouse groaned open.
Katerina stepped inside, alone, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
She wore white this time — sharp, pristine, mocking.
Her smile was slow and venomous as her eyes swept the room.
"Darling," she called, her voice echoing through the vast space.
"You've improved. I'm impressed. Really."
Isabella gripped the railing above her, her eyes narrowing.
Katerina glanced toward the crates, then back up toward the shadows where she knew Isabella was watching.
"But you still haven't learned," Katerina purred.
"You don't trap me. I trap you."
At that moment — the warehouse doors slammed shut behind her, and the hidden steel gates dropped, sealing the exits.
Alexander's voice came through Isabella's earpiece.
"Now."
But before Isabella could give the signal — Katerina tilted her head, her smile widening as dozens of armed men emerged from the shadows around her.
"You really thought I'd come alone?" she said softly, almost tenderly.
From the catwalk, Isabella's blood ran cold.
On the floor below, Katerina raised her hand, and her men cocked their weapons in unison — their barrels glittering in the dim light.
Isabella's fingers hovered over the detonator in her pocket.
One press, and the real trap would spring.
But Katerina's eyes — dark and gleaming — stayed locked on hers.
"You can press it," Katerina called sweetly, her voice carrying.
"But you'd better pray you're faster than my bullets."
The warehouse fell silent but for the sound of Isabella's own heartbeat in her ears.
She curled her fingers slowly around the detonator — and smiled.
"Let's see who burns first," she whispered — and pressed it.