Chapter 10
The morning sun crept over the New York skyline, casting a golden, cinematic light through the gaps in the penthouse's blackout blinds. The city was waking up, entirely unaware of the tectonic shifts occurring in its criminal underworld.
Nia stood in the center of her command center, the black tailored suit immaculate, her bronze skin glowing in the morning light. The bruising on her cheek was darker now, a badge of honor in the war she had initiated.
Sullivan walked into the room, his face grim. In his hands, he held a small, elegantly wrapped mahogany box.
"A courier dropped this at the front desk of the building downstairs, Boss," Sullivan said, holding the box out carefully. "It passed the bomb sniffers and X-rays. It's safe."
Nia stepped forward and took the box. She untied the silk ribbon and popped the small brass latch. Inside, resting on a bed of black velvet, was the heavy silver tie clip Arthur had been wearing the night before. Beside it was a handwritten note on Eleanor’s personal, watermarked stationery.
Nia picked up the heavy cardstock and read it in silence.
Nia, you have made your point. Victoria’s husband is in jail, and we are heavily exposed. We surrender the northern territories and the docks entirely to you. Let this be the end of it. Do not force us to call upon the families in Chicago. They will not take kindly to a woman dismantling the old bloodlines. — Arthur.
Nia stared at the elegant, looping handwriting. It was a threat disguised as a white flag. They were bleeding, terrified, but they were still arrogant enough to believe they could dictate the terms of their own surrender. They still thought she was a woman playing a man's game.
"What does it say, Boss?" Carter asked quietly from the glass table.
Nia slowly closed the mahogany box, the silver tie clip rattling inside. She looked toward the hallway that led to Julian’s room. Her son was safe, breathing easily, dreaming of a world where his own family didn't view him as prey.
But as long as Arthur, Eleanor, and Victoria drew breath, Julian would never truly be safe. They would regroup. They would scheme. They would call Chicago.
Nia turned back to her men, her striking eyes burning with an unquenchable, absolute fire.
"Arthur wants peace," Nia said, her voice a low, melodic hum that sent shivers down the spines of her hardened killers. "He thinks he can offer me half of my own city and I will sit quietly like a good daughter."
She tossed the mahogany box into the nearby wastebasket.
"Sullivan," Nia said, stepping into the golden light of the window. "Send word to Chicago. Tell them Arthur Thorne and his entire bloodline are no longer recognized by this syndicate. Anyone who shelters them is an enemy of mine."
"And Arthur?" Sullivan asked, a dark, anticipatory grin spreading across his face.
May you like
Nia looked out over the city she conquered, the emerald queen who had finally embraced her crown.
"Tell the strike teams to move out," Nia commanded softly. "Burn the estate to the ground."
