REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 98: Chapter 98

Two Days Later: The Apartment of Controlled Chaos
The kids had no idea we nearly died in a mountain ambush.
They were too busy painting the walls with edible markers, bouncing off furniture like caffeinated puppies, and screaming “NO!” at each other in a dozen creative tones. The nannies were saints—battle-hardened, mildly traumatized saints—but still saints.
“Who opened all the cereal boxes!?” one cried from the kitchen.
“Not me!” shouted Maya, who had chocolate on her nose and rainbow marshmallows stuck in her hair.
Mylene, in yoga pants and a “Don’t Sass Me I’m Tired” t-shirt, kicked aside a pile of toys. “I bought groceries for a month. A month. Where are they?!”
Jhing Jhing was trying to pry a Barbie from the jaws of a baby while applying lipstick and ordering more diapers on her phone. “We need another fridge. And a bigger coffee maker.”
I walked through the chaos in full tactical gear, now slightly too loose thanks to the gym sessions that actually worked. There was a quiet power in adjusting your gear over a matching lace bra, applying sunscreen, and knowing you were ready to face either a PTA meeting or a hit squad.
Because we were going back.
And this time, we weren’t bringing just sass and instinct.
We had data. Names. Files copied from Dorothy’s vault. GPS coordinates recovered by Joe’s encrypted device. And the last words of the journal—the final entry of a sister buried in the mountain, forgotten by the world.
We knew now that the treasure wasn’t gold. It was truth.
And it was time the world paid for it.
The sun had just crept over the rooftops when I stepped out onto the balcony, coffee in one hand, the other resting against the cold metal rail. I hadn’t slept much. None of us did. I could still feel the damp mountain air in my lungs and see Dorothy’s face—the fury, the betrayal, the madness—as she fell off that cliff.
Dead.
And yet, the problem wasn’t.
It was just changing shape.
“Joe,” I said, as he joined me on the balcony, fresh bruises across his cheek and bandages under his shirt, “I need you to find out what happened to Charles V. Dandridge. If I’m right… Dorothy didn’t just plan to betray us. She betrayed her own blood.”
He didn’t even nod. Just sipped his bitter black coffee and made a call.
Within a few hours, he returned, a storm in his eyes.
“You were right.”
The words dropped like anvils.
“Charles Dandridge was found dead in his estate outside the city. Shot twice in the chest, once in the head. Execution-style. His bodyguards? All dead. Two of them hung in the trees. The place was torched—file cabinets, servers, all gone. Whoever did it wanted to burn him and everything he knew into dust.”
I sat slowly on the couch, coffee untouched. My hands shook.
“She killed him,” I murmured. “She actually did it. Her own father.”
Joe nodded solemnly. “Dorothy found out the vault wasn’t full of gold. No treasure, no power. Just a collection of old truths, journals, evidence of what really happened to Leon’s sister. And your father’s involvement. Her father lied to her—promised her wealth and control. And when she opened that vault and saw bones and blood-stained notebooks instead of bars of gold, she lost it.”
“She killed him because he made her a fool,” I said, mostly to myself.
“But now,” Joe added grimly, “we’ve got a bigger issue.”
I turned sharply. “What now?”
He pulled out a file from his backpack—photos, red-stamped dossiers, notes written in coded shorthand.
“Dorothy didn’t just kill her father and go rogue. Before she left, she told him—”
“Who?”
“The Mafia Boss. Marco Santiago. She told him you were the one behind the mountain vault mission. That the Black Widow has returned. That you were targeting his businesses.”
I blinked. “She what?”
“She told him,” Joe said, voice low, “that you’re the Black Widow. Or at least Leon Darrow’s mistress. That you inherited his secrets. That you’re building a case against the old families—the cartels, the syndicates, the politicians. All of it.”
I froze.
I could hear the screaming of the kids in the next room. Mylene trying to convince Maya not to wear a cape to breakfast. Jhing Jhing laughing over spilled cereal and sticky fruit loops stuck in her hair. Life, just outside the door.
And here I was, being framed as the next international threat.
“She’s made you a target,” Joe said flatly. “You’re not just some curious daughter anymore. You’re a threat to the entire underworld. And Marco Santiago? He doesn’t ask questions. He sends men with knives and unmarked vans.”
I stood, heart hammering. “Then we move first.”
Joe looked up. “You want to strike back?”
I nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “We take what Dorothy left. All of it. The files. The digital backups. The journals. If he thinks I’m a threat, I’ll be one. We expose what they’ve done. Every rotten bone in their golden empires.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
I turned toward the nursery, where laughter and toy clatters rang behind a pink door. I stared for a long time, then looked back at him.
“I’m not the Black Widow,” I said, “but maybe it’s time they met someone scarier.”
Joe grinned, slow and dangerous. “Then let’s give them a war they’ll never forget.”