Chapter 4
Nia slowly stood up, lifting Julian carefully into her arms. The four-year-old buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing still dangerously shallow. The weight of him in her arms felt like the only real thing in the opulent, treacherous room. Nia’s dark, striking eyes swept over the room, calculating her exit. The heavy oak doors leading to the foyer were her closest route to the waiting SUVs and her personal medical team.
She took one step forward, her metallic stilettos clicking sharply against the hardwood border of the carpet.
Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, entirely blocking the doorway. It was Arthur, Nia’s father and the retired Mafia patriarch. At sixty-eight, Arthur still cut an imposing figure. His fair, rosy skin was tight over his sharp jawline, and his crisp light blue dress shirt and charcoal wool slacks were immaculately pressed. A silver tie clip gleamed under the cinematic lighting, matching the luxury watch and polished oxfords he wore.
"Stand aside, Arthur," Nia commanded. Her voice did not shake. It was the voice of a reigning boss addressing a retired one.
Arthur did not move. He adjusted his family ring, his blue eyes cold and unyielding. "You are causing a scene, Nia. Put the boy down. He needs to learn to take a hit if he is going to survive in this family."
"He is having an asthma attack, and his ribs are bruised," Nia stated, her grip tightening on Julian. "Move out of my way, or I will have my men move you."
Before Arthur could respond, a sharp clacking of black patent heels echoed across the dining room. Victoria, Nia’s thirty-six-year-old sister, stepped forward. Dressed in a lavish ruby-red velvet midi dress that clung to her fair, rosy skin, she looked every inch the entitled Mafia princess. A statement diamond choker sparkled aggressively at her throat, matching the heavy rings on her fingers.
Victoria grabbed Nia’s free arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging painfully into Nia's bronze skin.
"Are you insane?" Victoria hissed, her eyes wide with furious entitlement. "Preston is the rightful heir by blood! You think because Father handed you the ledger, your little bastard gets to sit at the head of the table?"
"Let go of me, Victoria," Nia warned, her voice dropping an octave, radiating a pure, lethal warning.
Victoria ignored the threat. Fueled by years of jealousy and racial resentment toward her adopted sister's rise to power, Victoria pulled her arm back.
With all her strength, Victoria slapped Nia hard across the face.
The sound of the impact cracked like a gunshot through the dining room. The heavy diamond cocktail rings on Victoria's hand scraped against Nia’s cheekbone, leaving a bright red mark against her flawless bronze skin. Nia’s head snapped to the side, her heavy diamond drop earrings swaying violently.
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"My son’s future matters more than your drama!" Victoria screamed, her face contorted with rage. "You and that boy are nothing but charity cases!"
Nia did not flinch. She did not raise a hand to her stung cheek. Slowly, terrifyingly, Nia turned her head back to face her sister. The look in her eyes was no longer human; it was the look of an apex predator assessing a dead carcass.
