Chapter 10
The estate was a hive of controlled, lethal activity. Dozens of highly trained enforcers moved through the halls, loading weapons and checking tactical gear. The bright, natural light of the afternoon slowly began to give way to the golden hour, casting long, dramatic shadows across the marble floors.
Viviana walked into her private command center, a secure room lined with monitors and communication arrays. The screens displayed various angles of the estate's perimeter, as well as live drone footage hovering high above the distant eastern ports.
She stood in the center of the room, her hands resting on the edge of the sleek, modern conference table. She had removed her tailored jacket, rolling up the sleeves of her silk blouse. The empty space on her left ring finger felt incredibly light, a physical reminder that she had severed the anchor weighing her down.
"Strike teams are in position, Boss," a communications officer reported from the console. "We have them surrounded. The Morettis are completely boxed in at Warehouse Seven."
"Do they realize they are trapped?" Viviana asked quietly.
"Yes, ma'am. They are trying to negotiate a parley over the open radio channels. They want to speak with you."
Viviana stared at the drone footage on the massive central monitor. She could see the tiny, heat-signature dots of the rival soldiers scrambling for cover among the shipping containers. They had come to her city expecting an easy victory. They had come expecting a fractured family led by a weak woman.
"Block their transmission," Viviana ordered, her voice devoid of any mercy or hesitation.
"Blocking transmission," the officer confirmed, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "We are silent."
"Marcus," Viviana said, looking at her underboss, who stood ready by the door.
"Give the order, Viviana," Marcus said, his eyes locked on the screen.
Viviana took a slow, deep breath. She thought of Damon’s hand bruising Oliver’s wrist. She thought of Rosalind’s smug, arrogant smile. She thought of the men currently standing in her port, the men who had orchestrated the attempt to destroy her son's safety.
"Execute them," Viviana whispered.
On the monitors, the dark, silent drone footage suddenly erupted into brilliant, chaotic flashes of light. Massive, silent blooms of fire blossomed across the screen as the heavy explosives detonated simultaneously. Warehouses crumpled like paper. The shipping containers were engulfed in absolute destruction.
Viviana watched the inferno consume the screen, her fair, rosy face illuminated by the glow of the monitors. She did not blink. She did not look away.
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The Hale family was no longer a dynasty divided. It was a fortress forged in fire. And as the smoke began to rise over the distant horizon, blotting out the setting sun, Viviana knew that the rest of the underworld would soon learn a very simple, terrifying truth.
The Queen was awake. And she was going to burn them all.
