Chapter 7
The interior of the heavily armored Cadillac Escalade was a stark contrast to the bright, cinematic dining room Nia had just left. Here, the lighting was dim and functional. The heavy thrum of the V8 engine masked the chaotic sounds of the city as they sped toward the private medical facility across town.
Julian lay stretched across the thick leather backseat, an oxygen mask strapped securely over his small face. His golden-brown skin, which had been frighteningly pale moments before, was slowly returning to its warm, natural hue as the medication and pure oxygen flooded his system. His small chest rose and fell in a much smoother, deeper rhythm.
Nia sat beside him, her long fingers gently stroking his soft, dark curls. The emerald green silk of her gown was wrinkled from the fight, and the red mark from Victoria's rings pulsed warmly on her cheekbone, but she didn't care. She watched her son breathe. It was the only metric of success she cared about tonight.
Sitting in the jump seat facing them was Dr. Evans, the syndicate's private physician. He was a quiet, thorough man who knew better than to ask questions.
"His airway is opening up nicely, Boss," Dr. Evans said in a hushed tone, checking the portable monitor resting on the seat. "The asthma attack was severe, triggered by blunt force trauma and extreme stress. I’ve found deep contusions on his lower left ribs. Nothing is broken, thankfully, but he will be in pain for a few weeks."
Nia didn’t look away from Julian. "Will he need to be admitted?"
"No," Evans replied, packing away his stethoscope. "I can set up a secure room in your penthouse. He needs rest, anti-inflammatories, and observation. But he is out of the danger zone."
"Thank you, Doctor," Nia murmured.
In the front passenger seat, Sullivan, the lead bodyguard, turned around to face the back. The massive man looked at Nia, his eyes hard and loyal.
"Boss, I’ve got perimeter teams securing your penthouse building now. Sweeping every floor," Sullivan reported, his deep American accent filling the cabin. "But we have a situation. Arthur is making calls. He’s reaching out to the old Capos, the ones who were loyal to him before he handed you the ledger. He’s claiming you attacked Victoria unprovoked."
Nia finally pulled her gaze away from Julian and looked at Sullivan. The terrifying, dead calm from the dining room had settled deep into her bones.
"Let him call them," Nia said, adjusting her luxury gold watch. "Arthur thinks this is a family dispute. He thinks the men will side with his blood over his adopted daughter. He’s forgotten that I am the one who pays them, and I am the one who holds the shipment schedules."
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"What are your orders, Nia?" Sullivan asked, leaning forward, ready to unleash hell on her command.
"Lock down all the ports immediately. Freeze all offshore accounts associated with Arthur and Victoria's husbands," Nia commanded coldly. "They want to play royalty? Let’s see how long the kingdom lasts when the gold runs dry."
