Chapter 8
The private suite on the top floor of the Ashford estate was a sanctuary, heavily soundproofed and entirely removed from the chaos of the grand ballroom below. The air smelled faintly of lavender and expensive leather. Imani pushed the heavy mahogany doors open, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to drop a fraction of an inch as she stepped into the quiet space.
Gloria was sitting on a plush, cream-colored velvet sofa. Her beautiful silver-streaked natural afro was slightly messy, and she had draped the beaded pashmina shawl securely around her shoulders to ward off the chill of shock. The estate’s private physician, an older man with a calm demeanor, was gently applying a bandage to the small cut on her hand.
When Imani entered, the doctor immediately stepped back, bowing his head respectfully. "She is fine, Boss. Just a minor laceration on the palm and some bruising on the back of the knee. No serious damage. Her blood pressure is slightly elevated, but that is to be expected."
"Thank you, Doctor. Leave us," Imani instructed softly.
The doctor quickly gathered his medical bag and quietly exited the suite, closing the heavy doors behind him with a soft click.
Imani walked over to the sofa, the sharp clicks of her black stilettos sinking into the thick, expensive Persian rug. The striking crimson velvet of her evening gown was heavily stained with water and champagne, completely ruined, but she didn't care. She knelt down gently beside the sofa, completely ignoring the pain in her bruised knuckles, and took her mother’s bandaged hand in both of hers.
"Mama," Imani whispered, her voice cracking slightly, the terrifying Mafia boss entirely replaced by a worried daughter. "I am so sorry. I should have seen him moving. I should never have let him get that close to you."
Gloria looked down at her daughter, her warm mahogany skin still slightly pale, but her eyes held a deep, profound strength. She gently pulled her hand free and reached out, cupping Imani’s cheek, her thumb brushing against the flawless dark brown skin.
"Hush now, Imani," Gloria said softly, her voice steady and warm. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. That man's cruelty is his own burden, not yours."
"He kicked you like a dog," Imani said, a fresh wave of cold fury surging through her chest. Her jaw clenched tight. "I should have killed him in that fountain. I should have let him drown in front of everyone."
"No," Gloria stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You did exactly what you needed to do. You protected me, and you protected your empire. Killing him in front of those people would have made you a monster in their eyes. Expelling him... breaking his pride... that makes you a queen."
Imani closed her eyes, leaning into her mother’s touch, drawing strength from the older woman’s resilience.
"Is he gone?" Gloria asked quietly after a long moment.
"He's gone," Imani confirmed, opening her eyes. "He and Constance have been thrown out. They have nothing. No money, no protection, no status. The syndicate knows they are dead to me. If they try to stay in this city, they won't survive the week."
Gloria nodded slowly, a deep sadness momentarily passing over her features. "I knew the moment you married him that his heart was poisoned with ambition and hatred. I just hoped... I hoped you would see it before he tried to strike."
"I saw it, Mama," Imani whispered, looking down at her bare left hand, where the heavy diamond ring used to sit. "I just thought I could control it. I thought I could use him. I was arrogant."
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"You were hopeful," Gloria corrected gently. "But hope has no place in the business you run."
Before Imani could reply, the secure phone resting on the mahogany desk across the room began to buzz loudly, its harsh, mechanical ring shattering the quiet intimacy of the suite.
