Chapter 111 Burn Empires
RAVIAL
I watched the little lamb stand there, waving goodbye at the car until we drove out of the estate and I couldn’t see her anymore. Then I turned forward, a smile still pulling at my lips, one I hadn’t even noticed forming. All I could think about were her words:
“Mi tingting blong yu.” Pathetic humans would say that was too long to be a proper endearment, too clunky for a lover’s tongue, but that’s exactly what made my Leitana different. Unique. She didn’t choose something short and clever. She chose truth. My heart thinks of you. Forever. Simple. Devastating. Mine.
“You’re in a good mood,” Lucius said from the passenger seat, his voice low, that insufferable smirk in his tone.
I turned my head slowly, letting the smile die. “And you’re in a chatty mood.”
He chuckled, actually chuckled. My brows rose beneath the blindfold. Was I becoming too lenient? The thought irritated me. A faint, unfamiliar prickle under my skin, like something unwanted trying to take root.
Emotions I did not feel, should not feel were suddenly pressing against the edges of my control. I crushed the sensation immediately.
It had no place here.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, undeterred, “you’re smiling a lot now.”
I tilted my head. “Are you saying I never smile?”
He swallowed. “No, sir. You… don’t.”
I looked out the window at the passing trees, the city already creeping closer. Why I’d chosen to move the estate all the way to Connecticut when my empire sat in the heart of New York still puzzled most people. But I knew the reason. When I’d planned to claim that star, I wanted distance. Space. A place far enough from the city’s filth that her light wouldn’t dim the moment she stepped outside. A sanctuary.
“Keep your observations to yourself, Lucius,” I said, voice flat. “Tell me what we have today.”
He sighed, quiet and resigned, and opened the tablet on his lap.
“Three shipments inbound. The main one’s the usual—small arms, mostly AK variants and Glock 19s. Coming out of Serbia, rerouted through Turkey, final leg on a Liberian-flagged freighter. ETA to the Port of New York and New Jersey is 0400 tomorrow. But we’ve got a holdup. Customs is sniffing around the manifest. Someone tipped them—probably the Italians, still sore about losing the Brooklyn corridor last month. They’re threatening to seize the whole container unless we pay double the usual grease fee or reroute through Baltimore.”
I drummed my fingers once on the armrest. “Options?”
“Pay them. Reroute. Or… let the shipment burn and send a message.”
I considered it. “Pay them. Quietly. Then find out who tipped Customs. I want a name by tomorrow night. If it’s the Italians, remind them what happens when they overreach.”
Lucius nodded, already typing.
Deep inside, somewhere I rarely let myself feel there was an unfamiliar tug. I wanted to be back at the villa. I wanted to walk into the music room and find her at the piano again, barefoot, humming off-key, smiling like the world hadn’t tried to break her. The urge was sharp. Foreign. I crushed it immediately.
“There’s also the Walters situation,” Lucius continued. “They’re settled in the Catskills safehouse. Food, medical supplies, clothes, security detail—twenty-four-hour rotation. Ricardo called this morning. The family’s scared. Confused. They think they’ve been kidnapped. The mother keeps asking questions. The kids won’t stop crying. Should we… reveal a little? At least tell them they’re safe?”
“No,” I said without hesitation. “It’s not my job to comfort them. They stay quiet. They stay alive. That’s the deal.”
Lucius hesitated. “And also… Charles’s plane lands in two hours. His men will notice the Walters are gone. He’ll know someone moved them. And he’ll know it wasn’t random.”
I nodded once. “That’s what we want.”
The car glided into Manhattan, the skyline rising around us like steel teeth. We pulled up to the Ashbourne Tower, my tower. The driver opened my door. I stepped out, Lucius at my shoulder.
Employees in the lobby froze mid-step.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashbourne.”
“Sir.”
“Good morning, sir.”
I gave them nothing, not a nod, not a glance. They didn’t expect it. They never did.
The private elevator waited. I stepped inside. Lucius followed.
The doors closed.
Ayesha was already waiting next to my office when we arrived—short skirt, blouse unbuttoned one too many, cleavage on deliberate display. She stepped forward as I approached, posture practiced, lips curved in that hopeful way she’d worn since day one.
“Sir,” she purred, “your 11 o’clock is waiting in the conference room. The Dubai investors.”
I stopped.
I looked at her.
She straightened, smile widening, expectant.
I remembered the day Leitana had walked in and seen Ayesha leaning over me like that. The look on my wife’s face, confused, hurt, and uncertain had carved itself into me. I hadn’t cared about Ayesha before. Barely registered her existence. But after that day…
“Get rid of it,” I said, voice flat.
Ayesha blinked. “Sir?”
“The outfit. Lose it. Or you’re fired.”
Her mouth opened. Closed and Opened again.
I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and walked toward the conference room.
Behind me, Lucius stepped close to her, voice low.
“He means the skirt. And the blouse. Change. Now.”
I heard her sharp inhale. The sputter of shock.
I didn’t look back.
The conference room doors opened.
Twelve men in suits rose instantly.
“Mr. Ashbourne.”
“Sir.”
I took my seat at the head of the table.
No greeting.
No smile.
Just one question.
“Where are we on the Dubai waterfront acquisition?”
They began.
Numbers. Timelines. Leverage points. Bribes in the right pockets.
I listened.
I nodded when necessary.
But part of me was still back at the villa.
With my barefoot wife in my shirt and boxers.
With her crooked tie.
With her new name for me ringing in my ears.
Mi tingting blong yu.
And I knew, deep in the place where the Morningstar still burned, that I would burn it all to the ground before I let anyone take that away from me.
Especially not Charles.
Especially not anyone who thought they could touch what was mine.