The moment Lorenzo stepped into the boardroom, silence fell like a blade.
The Deloné table was long, cold, carved from onyx. But this time, it wasn’t the stone that cut—it was the woman sitting at the head.
Alina.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, her hair pulled back like a weapon, legs crossed like she owned not just the room but every breath in it.
“You’re late,” she said without looking at him.
He smirked. “You’re irresistible.”
“You’re replaceable.”
She finally looked up. Smiled.
Everyone flinched.
It was the smile of a woman who’d learned power wasn’t given—it was taken.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “The Triad Council is moving.”
“Let them,” Alina said. “They’ve danced in shadows for too long. I’m done pretending we’re afraid of ghosts.”
Sabine slid a folder toward her. “
