Preston violently kicked her leg out from under her, sending the elderly woman crashing heavily onto the cold floor.

The library of the Ashford estate was a massive, imposing room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, smelling heavily of aged paper, expensive cigars, and polished mahogany. The room was dimly lit, save for the bright, focused light pooling over the large desk in the center.

Imani sat perfectly still behind the desk in the high-backed leather chair. She had changed completely. Gone was the ruined crimson velvet gown and the dazzling diamond chandelier earrings. She now wore a sharply tailored, pitch-black suit over a dark silk blouse, exuding an aura of absolute, terrifying power. Her voluminous locs were still pinned up, but her beautiful dark brown face was a mask of cold, unyielding stone. The heavy family signet ring gleamed on her right hand.

The heavy double doors of the library swung open. Marcus stepped inside, flanking an older White man in an expensive gray suit. Don Rossi was a legendary figure in the underworld, his face weathered by decades of violence and betrayal. He carried himself with the bloated confidence of a man who believed the world belonged to him.

Rossi didn't wait for an invitation. He walked straight toward the desk, looking around the room with a faint sneer of condescension.

"Imani," Rossi said smoothly, his voice raspy from years of smoking. He didn't use her title. It was a deliberate, calculated insult. "I hear you had a bit of domestic trouble tonight. Assaulting your own husband in front of the entire city? Very messy. The Commission is deeply concerned about your stability."

Imani didn't blink. She didn't offer him a seat. She simply stared at him, her dark eyes piercing straight through his arrogant facade.

"Preston was a spy for your family, Rossi," Imani stated flatly, her voice low and completely devoid of emotion. "He provoked an attack on my mother to give you a pretext to march on my gates. It was a clumsy, desperate plan."

Rossi’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, surprised by her blunt, accurate assessment. He recovered quickly, resting his hands heavily on the edge of her desk and leaning forward.

"Preston was a weak fool, yes," Rossi admitted with a careless shrug. "But he was right about one thing. You are a liability. A woman cannot control this city, especially not a woman who lets her emotions dictate her actions. The Commission has decided it’s time for a change in leadership. You will step down tonight, Imani. Hand over the ports, the supply lines, and the casinos to my men peacefully, and I will let you and your mother leave the city alive."

The silence in the library was profound. Rossi stared down at Imani, fully expecting her to crack under the massive pressure of the entire Commission bearing down on her. He expected fear. He expected negotiation.

Imani slowly leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, the family signet ring catching the light. She looked Rossi dead in the eyes, and for the first time all evening, she smiled. It was a terrifying, deeply unsettling expression.

"You think you have cornered me, Rossi," Imani whispered, her voice a lethal, musical hum. "You think because I am a woman, because I am Black, that I will simply bow my head and surrender my empire to a dying old man."

Rossi’s face flushed dark red with sudden anger. "You arrogant little bitch, I have fifty heavily armed men sitting at your gates right now! If I don't walk out of here in five minutes, they will burn this estate to the ground!"

Imani’s smile widened slightly. She didn't raise her voice. She simply picked up a small, heavy remote from her desk.

"Marcus," Imani said softly, not taking her eyes off the rival Don. "Show our guest what happened to his men."

Marcus stepped forward and clicked a button on a remote. A massive flat-screen television on the far wall flared to life, displaying a live feed from the security cameras at the front gates.

Rossi turned to look, his arrogant sneer instantly vanishing into absolute, unadulterated horror.

The five armored SUVs belonging to his convoy were completely engulfed in roaring flames. Heavily armed Ashford loyalists swarmed the perimeter, executing the surviving Rossi hitters with brutal efficiency.

Rossi gasped, stumbling backward away from the desk, his hands shaking violently. He looked back at Imani, his eyes wide with sheer terror. "You... you just declared war on the entire Commission."

"No, Rossi," Imani replied smoothly, standing up slowly from behind the desk, her black suit impeccable, her power absolute. She pulled a suppressed handgun from the drawer and leveled it directly at his chest.