Chapter 9
The lower levels of the Blackthorne mansion were a stark contrast to the bright, airy elegance of the upper floors. The walls were thick, soundproofed concrete, lit by harsh, industrial bulbs that offered no soft elegant warmth. It was a space designed for interrogation and absolute consequence.
Julian descended the steel staircase, his polished leather shoes striking the metal steps with a heavy, rhythmic finality. Two of his most ruthless, broad-shouldered enforcers stood at attention outside a heavy steel door, their fair faces grim and entirely devoid of mercy.
"Is she secured inside?" Julian asked, his deep, low voice vibrating in the cold corridor.
"Yes, Boss. She hasn't stopped screaming since we brought her down," the lead guard replied, unlocking the heavy deadbolt.
Julian pushed the door open.
Natalia Prescott was sitting on a cold metal folding chair in the center of the barren room. Her sculpted burgundy satin gown was torn at the hem, and her pristine makeup was completely ruined by tracks of black mascara and panicked tears. When she saw Julian step into the room, she scrambled backward, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor.
"Julian, please!" Natalia shrieked, her American accent pitching into a hysterical, breathless wail. "You have to listen to me! It wasn't my idea! I was forced into it!"
Julian did not rush toward her. He stood perfectly still near the doorway, his movie-star handsome face a mask of impenetrable, cold granite. The small neck tattoo peeked above his collar, a dark reminder of the violent world he commanded.
"Does a woman who is forced into treason personally deliver starvation to her victim for four months?" Julian inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.
"My father ordered it!" Natalia sobbed, throwing her own family under the bus in a desperate bid for survival. "He wanted to absorb your territories! He knew you would never agree to a merger while Clara was alive because she opposed the expansion! He rigged the boat! He told me to keep her hidden as leverage in case you ever suspected the truth!"
"Did your father also order you to threaten my son's caregiver, or was that simply a manifestation of your own pathetic insecurity?" Julian asked, his perceptive eyes narrowing into dark, lethal slits.
Natalia opened her mouth, her chest heaving, but she could not formulate a lie to defend her cruelty toward the child. She buried her face in her hands, weeping uncontrollably.
"You are going to kill me," Natalia whispered through her fingers, absolute despair washing over her.
"Have I ever stained my own hands with the blood of a coward?" Julian asked smoothly.
He slowly walked forward, stopping just inches away from the trembling woman. He looked down at her, entirely unimpressed by her frantic, desperate tears.
"Will you write a full, detailed confession implicating your father in the assassination attempt of my wife, and the subsequent conspiracy to defraud the syndicate?" Julian asked, his tone dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice.
"If I do, will you let me live?" Natalia begged, looking up with wide, terrified eyes.
"Will your survival not depend entirely on how useful your confession proves to be when I dismantle your father's empire tomorrow morning?" Julian replied.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his back on her, gesturing to the guards standing in the doorway.
"Will you ensure she is provided with a pen and paper?" Julian asked the enforcers. "And will you ensure she does not sleep until the document is signed?"
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"Consider it done, Boss," the guards nodded, stepping into the room.
Julian walked out of the cold, sterile holding cell, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind him, plunging Natalia back into her self-made nightmare. The confession was simply a political tool; he had no intention of letting the Prescott family survive the week.
