Chapter 8: Victoria's Secret
Julian found his mother in the solarium, surrounded by her prized collection of rare orchids. The air was thick and humid, smelling of damp earth and exotic flowers. Victoria was delicately pruning a stem, looking every bit the untouchable matriarch of a dynasty.
Julian walked in, the heavy manila folder clutched in his hand. He didn't say a word. He simply threw the file onto the glass patio table. The photos of Anton Kovach, the forged ledgers, and the suicide report scattered across the surface.
Victoria looked up, annoyed by the interruption, but her annoyance vanished the second her eyes landed on the black-and-white photograph of Anton. The pruning shears slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the terracotta tiles. All the color washed out of her face, leaving her looking old, fragile, and terrified.
"You ruined him," Julian said, his voice deadly quiet. "You framed him, you stole his company, and you drove him to put a gun in his mouth. And you never thought to keep an eye on his daughter."
"Julian, you don't understand," Victoria stammered, backing away from the table as if the photographs were radioactive. "It was business. It was survival. He was weak, and we needed the capital to expand into Europe."
"Business?" Julian roared, his control finally snapping. He stepped toward her, kicking a heavy ceramic pot out of his way. The terracotta shattered, spilling dark earth and a bruised orchid across the floor. "She blew up my car, Mother! She is systematically trying to butcher us, and it is entirely your fault!"
Victoria collapsed into a wrought-iron patio chair, burying her face in her hands. The pristine, unshakeable facade she had worn for decades finally crumbled. She wept, harsh, ugly sobs that echoed off the glass walls of the solarium.
"She wants blood, Julian," Victoria choked out, looking up at him with tear-streaked, terrified eyes. "She won't stop. These people, the syndicate... they are merciless. They will strip us of everything we own, and then they will burn the house down with us inside."
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"Then we strike first," Julian said, his voice cold, devoid of the panic that had gripped him for the last week. A dark, terrifying resolve settled over him. If Elena wanted a war over the sins of the past, he would give her one. He turned on his heel, leaving his mother weeping among the ruined flowers. He pulled out his phone, dialing Marcus.
"Find the safe house," Julian ordered into the receiver. "I don't care how much it costs, and I don't care how many men you need. Find her, and bring me her head."
