Chapter 8
By midnight, Nia’s downtown penthouse had been transformed from a luxurious residence into an impenetrable military command center. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline were covered with bullet-resistant blackout blinds. Heavily armed men in tactical gear stood at every entry point, replacing the usual discreet security.
Deep within the penthouse, Julian slept peacefully in his bedroom. The oxygen mask had been removed, replaced by a steady, quiet humidifier. Nia stood in the doorway for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the soft duvet. The navy blue blazer and khakis had been replaced by soft pajamas.
Satisfied that he was safe, Nia closed the door softly and walked into the expansive living room. She had finally changed out of the emerald silk gown, wearing a sleek, black tailored suit that mirrored the darkness in her heart. The red mark on her cheek had bloomed into a faint purple bruise, a physical reminder of the betrayal.
Sullivan and three of her most trusted lieutenants were gathered around a massive glass dining table, analyzing blueprints and financial ledgers.
"Report," Nia demanded, stepping up to the head of the table.
"The ports are locked tight, Boss," a lieutenant named Carter answered, sliding a tablet toward her. "Not a single crate moves without your biometric authorization. Arthur tried to override the system an hour ago. He was locked out."
"And the accounts?" Nia asked, her eyes scanning the digital numbers.
"Frozen," Carter confirmed with a grim smile. "Victoria’s husband attempted to withdraw two million from the Cayman accounts to pay for off-the-books muscle. The transaction was denied. They are effectively bankrupt in the underground."
Nia leaned her hands on the glass table. "Why did they do it today, Sullivan? Why tie up my son in the middle of a family dinner?"
Sullivan crossed his arms, his massive biceps straining against his shirt. "It was a calculated provocation, Nia. Arthur and Eleanor have been whispering in Victoria’s ear for months. They resent that you took the empire and expanded it past their wildest dreams. They wanted to trigger you. They wanted you to react violently in front of the old Capos so Arthur could step in, declare you unstable, and hand the reins to Victoria and Preston."
Nia scoffed, a dark, humorless sound. "They used a four-year-old boy as bait."
"They view Julian as a threat to Preston’s inheritance," Sullivan said quietly. "Because he has your blood. Because he has your skin."
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Nia closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The racial animosity, the quiet sneers, the backhanded compliments—she had endured it all her life under Eleanor's roof. She had built their empire, doubled their wealth, and still, they looked at her son and saw an outsider stealing their legacy.
"They wanted a reaction," Nia said softly, opening her eyes. The irises were pitch black in the dim light. "I am going to give them a war."
