Chapter 7
The golden warmth of the study felt like a genuine sanctuary compared to the intense, public glare of the dining hall. Emma sat in the heavy leather chair, burying her face in her hands as silent, relieved tears soaked her white cuffs. The dark purple bruise on her wrist was fully visible now, but she no longer felt the need to hide it.
Julian watched her quietly from the edge of his desk. His angular, handsome face softened. The cold, perceptive Mafia boss retreated entirely, replaced by a man who possessed a deep, closely guarded capacity for protection.
He waited until her sobs began to quiet into soft hiccups. He reached out and handed her a clean, linen handkerchief from his pocket.
"Thank you," Emma whispered, taking the fabric and dabbing at her rosy cheeks. "I don't know how to repay you for this, Mr. Ashford. The cost of that facility is astronomical."
"You don't repay me," Julian replied, his deep voice a comforting rumble. "You work hard. You are loyal. That is the only currency I require."
He paused, his eyes dropping to the dark mark on her wrist. The anger flared briefly in his chest again, hot and violent, but he suppressed it.
"Did she do that to you?" Julian asked, gesturing toward her arm.
Emma hesitated, then slowly nodded. "I was bringing fresh towels to the west wing three days ago. I didn't know she was in the hallway. She was on the phone, having a very... heated conversation. When she saw me, she grabbed my arm and dragged me into an empty room. She told me if I repeated anything I heard, my mother would be on the street."
Julian’s sharply defined jawline clenched. "What did you hear her say?"
Emma looked up, her beautiful eyes wide with uncertainty. "I don't understand the business, sir. But she was yelling at a man named Elias. She said, 'The northern shipments belong to us now, Elias. Julian is distracted with the wedding. Move the product through the harbor tonight.'"
The silence in the study was absolute.
Julian didn't move. He didn't blink. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the edge of the oak desk.
Elias was a lieutenant in a rival syndicate, a family they were supposedly at peace with. Diana hadn't just been a cruel, arrogant woman. She had been actively conspiring with their enemies, using the cover of the engagement to facilitate the theft of millions of dollars in product right under his nose.
The bruise on Emma's wrist hadn't just been an act of petty jealousy; it had been an act of desperate treason.
"You saved my life tonight, Emma," Julian whispered, the realization crashing over him.
"I don't understand," Emma said, standing up from the chair.
"Diana wasn't merging our families," Julian explained, his voice turning ice-cold, the general returning to the war room. "She was staging a coup. If they moved that product through my harbor, it would look like I authorized it. The federal authorities would have raided this estate by morning. She was setting me up to take the fall while she took control of the assets."
He reached for the heavy, encrypted landline on his desk. He dialed a single, secured number.
"Thomas," Julian said as his senior lieutenant answered.
"Yes, Boss?"
"The Vale family is hostile," Julian commanded, his American accent sharp and unyielding. "Mobilize the strike teams. Arm every loyal man on the payroll. I want the harbor surrounded immediately. Anyone moving product without my direct authorization is to be considered an enemy combatant."
May you like
"We are moving to a wartime footing?" Thomas asked, his voice tight with adrenaline.
"We are at war," Julian stated. "And Thomas... ensure the guest wing is fully locked down. Diana does not leave this property. She will answer for her treason tonight."
