Chapter 6 - THE WAR OF THE OIL TYCOONAt 7:00 AM the following morning, Grayhaven woke up to chaos.
The front page of the Grayhaven Chronicle featured a massive photo of Brielle sitting in the Marlowe Grand, wearing her emerald silk dress and the Valenti Signet Ring, accompanied by a bold headline:
FROM BANQUET GIRL TO DONNESSA: NICO VALENTI CROWNS NEW QUEEN OF GRAYHAVEN UNDERWORLD.
Inside the Kensington mansion, Richard Kensington smashed his crystal coffee cup against the wall.
"She has to die!" Richard roared, his face red with rage as he paced in front of four heavily armed mercenaries sitting in his private study. "That fat, common bitch humiliated my family! My daughter is laughingstock of high society!"
"Mr. Kensington," the mercenary leader—a scarred former mercenary named Vance—said coolly. "Hitting a Valenti Donnessa is a death sentence. Valenti has two hundred soldiers in the city."
"I don't care!" Richard screamed, tossing a leather dossier onto the table. "Look at her records! Her father owes two hundred thousand dollars to a loan shark on the East Side! Her younger sister works at a local pharmacy! She has weak points everywhere!"
Vance picked up the dossier, a sick smile spreading across his face. "If we hit her family, Valenti will come out into the open to protect them."
"Do it," Richard commanded, his eyes burning with ruthless hatred. "Grab her father. Grab her sister. Bring them to the old docks on the South River. Let's see if Don Valenti still loves his banquet girl when her family is bleeding in a barrel."
Meanwhile, back at the Valenti estate, Brielle was sitting at the breakfast table in the sunroom, drinking coffee while reviewing the Marlowe Grand’s financial ledgers.
Suddenly, her personal cell phone rang.
It was her nineteen-year-old sister, Clara.
Brielle answered instantly. "Clara? Hey, sweetie, are you okay? Did you see the news—"
"Brielle!" Clara’s panicked voice screamed through the speaker, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and heavy boot heels. "Brielle, help! There are men in our house! They broke the front door—"
BANG!
A heavy crash sounded over the line, followed by a rough male voice yelling, "Grab the girl! Check the back bedroom for the old man!"
"Clara?!" Brielle screamed, jumping out of her chair, her heart hammering wildly. "Clara!"
"Well, well, well," Vance’s voice came over the phone line, cool and metallic. "If it isn't the new Donnessa."
"If you touch my sister," Brielle hissed, her knuckles turning white around her phone, her voice dropping into a register of pure, terrifying fury, "I will skin you alive!"
Vance laughed darkly. "Tell your billionaire husband that if he wants to see his sister-in-law and father-in-law breathing, he will meet us at Pier 44 on the South River in two hours. Unarmed. Just him and you."
The line went dead.
Brielle stood in the sunroom, trembling with rage.
The dining room doors burst open, and Nico walked in, flanked by Marco and six armed soldiers. He had seen the security alert on his tablet.
"Brielle," Nico said, moving toward her with urgency. "What happened?"
Brielle turned to face her husband. She didn't cry. She didn't faint.
She walked over to Nico’s desk, picked up a sleek black Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol from his leather briefcase, and racked the slide with a clean, sharp CLACK, chambering a round.
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Nico stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in pure amazement.
"Richard Kensington took my sister and father," Brielle said, her brown eyes burning with a lethal, ancient fire. "He thinks I'm a helpless girl, Nico. Get the cars ready. We're going to Pier 44."
