Chapter 7 - The Night Nadia Became the BaitJulian chose a church for the exchange.
Nadia appreciated the irony.
The building had been abandoned for twenty years, its stained-glass windows broken, its pews covered in dust.
Darian hated the location.
“No clear sight lines.”
“That’s why Julian chose it.”
“Too many entrances.”
“Also why.”
“Then we change locations.”
“No.”
Darian looked at her.
They stood inside a warehouse two blocks away while Leo fitted Nadia with a microphone.
Their argument had lasted twenty minutes.
The operation began in twelve.
Darian lowered his voice.
“You do not improvise.”
Nadia raised an eyebrow.
“You know me.”
“That is precisely why I’m saying it.”
She almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
He touched the microphone wire near her collar.
His fingers lingered.
“Nadia.”
“I know.”
“No.”
His eyes met hers.
“If anything goes wrong, forget the evidence.”
She became serious.
“Run.”
“Yes.”
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
“I remember.”
Darian kissed her forehead.
It was the smallest gesture.
It nearly destroyed her composure.
Then Nadia walked to the church alone.
Julian waited near the altar.
Two men stood behind him.
“You came.”
“You’re paying me.”
He smiled.
“I knew there was a practical woman underneath all that righteous anger.”
Nadia stopped ten feet away.
“You wanted Darian’s schedule.”
“Yes.”
She handed him a folded page.
Julian opened it.
“Tomorrow night?”
“Warehouse seventeen.”
“Why?”
“Meeting with union representatives.”
Julian looked pleased.
“Security?”
“Six men.”
“Entrances?”
“Three.”
He studied her.
“You memorized all this?”
“I used to clean the building.”
Julian laughed.
“Of course you did.”
Nadia forced herself not to react.
He stepped closer.
“You know what I like about you?”
“No.”
“You understand resentment.”
Nadia thought of cold apartments.
Skipped meals.
Calloused hands.
Men discussing millions while she scrubbed their floors.
“Yes.”
“I grew up around people who inherited everything,” Julian said. “My father worshiped institutions. Tradition. Alliances.”
He looked around the ruined church.
“I learned that institutions are only buildings people are afraid to tear down.”
“And Darian?”
“Darian is an institution.”
Nadia’s microphone transmitted every word.
“What happens after he dies?”
“His captains fight.”
“And you take the waterfront.”
“Eventually.”
“What happens to me?”
Julian smiled.
“You get paid.”
“That’s it?”
“What else do you want?”
Nadia looked at him.
“Protection.”
“From whom?”
“Darian’s people.”
Julian laughed.
“If Darian dies tomorrow, they’ll be too busy killing one another.”
Something moved above them.
Nadia heard it.
A faint metallic scrape.
Julian heard it too.
His smile disappeared.
One of his men looked toward the balcony.
Then everything went wrong.
A shot.
One of Julian’s guards collapsed.
Not Darian’s shot.
Julian shouted.
Men appeared from the side doors.
Unknown men.
Not Costa.
Not Pendleton.
A third group.
Nadia ran.
Someone grabbed her.
She drove an elbow backward.
Another gunshot shattered stone beside her.
“Nadia!”
Darian’s voice through the microphone.
She reached the side aisle.
A man blocked her.
Nadia drew her pistol.
He lunged.
She fired.
This time she did not check whether he survived.
She ran.
The church became chaos.
Julian disappeared behind the altar.
Darian’s men entered from the rear.
Nadia reached a side door.
Locked.
“Damn it.”
She turned.
A man stood behind her.
Martin Voss.
Nadia froze.
“Martin?”
He held a gun.
Not at her.
At the hallway behind her.
“Move.”
She hesitated.
“Move!”
They ran.
Martin pushed open a maintenance door.
Cold air hit them.
Outside, a car waited.
Nadia stopped.
“I’m not getting in.”
“You have thirty seconds before people start shooting through that door.”
“Whose people?”
Martin looked at her.
“Conrad’s.”
Nadia stared.
The billionaire.
The man she had humiliated at the gala.
“This isn’t Julian’s war,” Martin said.
“What?”
“Julian thinks it is.”
The church door exploded outward.
Martin shoved Nadia into the car.
They accelerated.
Nadia reached for her gun.
Martin pointed his at her.
“Don’t.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk.”
“Darian will find us.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Nadia’s blood went cold.
Twenty minutes later, the car entered an underground garage.
Conrad waited.
No tuxedo this time.
No gala smile.
He looked ordinary.
That made Nadia remember what she had said at Pendleton’s table.
Men who think wealth makes them immortal.
“You,” Nadia said.
Conrad smiled.
“You really should have kept quiet at dinner.”
“You started a war because I insulted you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He walked closer.
“Darian destroyed my development deal. Arthur lost his funding. Julian became desperate.”
“You manipulated him.”
“I encouraged him.”
Nadia looked at Martin.
“And him?”
“Martin understands markets.”
Conrad smiled.
“Chaos creates opportunities.”
Nadia finally understood.
Julian was never the architect.
He was another piece.
Conrad wanted Darian and Julian to destroy each other.
Then he would buy what remained.
“This is about the waterfront.”
“It’s about everything.”
Conrad stepped closer.
“You were correct about one thing at dinner, Nadia.”
“What?”
“We do talk about money like a game.”
He smiled.
“Because it is.”
Nadia looked at Martin.
“You told Darian someone was preparing for war.”
“Yes.”
“You meant Conrad.”
“Yes.”
“Why tell us?”
Martin’s expression tightened.
“Because Conrad changed the agreement.”
Conrad sighed.
“Martin.”
“He was supposed to take Darian’s organization apart financially. No bodies.”
“And you believed him?”
Nadia almost laughed.
Martin looked ashamed.
Conrad raised a pistol.
Darian’s voice suddenly came from Nadia’s coat.
“Step away from her.”
Everyone froze.
The microphone.
Still active.
Conrad grabbed Nadia.
Gun against her throat.
“Costa!”
His voice echoed through the garage.
“Come get your maid!”
Nadia closed her eyes.
Not from fear.
From anger.
Maid.
Again.
Always the maid.
The invisible woman.
The disposable woman.
Conrad dragged her backward.
Then Nadia remembered Darian’s training.
Do not fight the weapon.
Fight the hand.
She moved.
Fast.
Both hands on Conrad’s wrist.
Twist.
Drop.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Martin tackled Conrad.
Nadia fell.
Gunfire erupted from the entrance.
Costa men flooded the garage.
Darian was first.
Conrad broke free and aimed at Nadia.
Darian fired.
Conrad collapsed.
Silence.
Nadia stared at the body.
Darian crossed the garage.
He stopped in front of her.
Neither spoke.
Then Nadia slapped him.
Hard.
Everyone froze.
Darian touched his cheek.
“That was for using me as bait.”
“You volunteered.”
“I know.”
She slapped him again.
“That was for being right about it being dangerous.”
His mouth twitched.
Then Nadia grabbed his shirt and kissed him.
The Costa soldiers suddenly found the concrete walls fascinating.
Darian wrapped both arms around her.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You’re alive.”
“I know.”
He buried his face against her neck.
Across the garage, Martin sat beside Conrad’s body.
Julian had escaped.
Conrad was dead.
And the war was not over.
But now they finally knew who had started it.
Nadia looked at Darian.
“Tomorrow, we finish this.”
He nodded.
May you like
“Together.”
This time she believed him.
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