Semua Bab Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance : Bab 241 - Bab 250

Morning rent brutally. Pewter gray engulfed Blackwood house in a stifling pall that would not breathe, as if it knew what was to be rent asunder.Sam Blackwood sat at the head of his own boardroom in the east wing, black coffee to one side, iced. The accountants and advisors arrived separately, each carrying a laptop, a tablet, and stacks of paper, They arrived silently, their din subdued, wincing."Sir… there has been a complication."Samuel didn't even glance up. Fingers tapped once over impossibly highly lacquered mahogany. "Complication," he growled, low and as cold as a sword in its sheath. "Or incompetence?"Samuel's finance director, a man of seventeen years with Samuel, swallowed hard. His hands shook as he put a tablet on the desk before Samuel. A screen glowed brightly. Columns of figures marched before it. Balance sheets. Transaction accounts."Gone, sir. Aurelio account. Two hundred and fifty million. Burned, stacked, diverted… gone. No trailable end. All wires to a vacuum

The city was never asleep, and neither was Shayla Anderson. She had a vile tiny coffeehouse on the edge of downtown, her eyes darting back and forth between the door and the fellow standing in front of her at the table. He shifted awkwardly, tapping the fingers of one hand on the cup of coffee with an irritable finger, a sweat bead on his forehead for all the chill outside. "Your business trucks for him," Shayla said, a block of ice floating over her sugary voice. "You've heard what kind of goods pass through his piers. Machine guns loaded into agri-ware. Stolen stock posing as hospital supplies. And you know him." His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice, in the man's throat, "When Samuel Blackwood learns I'm talking— "He won't," Shayla cut in, her eyes on his, chin thrust forward. "You'll never get me to say my name once tonight. Information is what I'm looking for. Travel reservations, deals, pictures. Off the books, and below the radar. And for something." She slid a black envelop

It happened at dawn. Headlines boomed through all the business sections of financial news, all the business sections of news, all the marquee-lit scrolls: "Blackwood Conglomerate Sued for Multi-Billion Dollars." "Government Official Investigation of Blackwood Enterprises." "Supply Chain Collapse That Defines Blackwood World Ablaze." The smoke-and-mirrors deception Samuel had built came crashing down. ------- By mid-morning, the Blackwood building was jammed to the ceiling with reporters, lawyers, and government officials, Suits poured in by angry partners, mourning for damages for "sabotaged contracts" and "disclosures of trade secrets." Subpoenas were being served before examiners. Auditors poured into offices. And high above it all, bleeding on all sides, stubborn, but howling, was Samuel Blackwood. At home, his bellows awakened from the halls. "Do they expect to try my good name?" Samuel flung a decanter into the flames, and shattered bits of it shone on the mar

The city felt restless that night, Lights flickered across rain-damp streets, passing cars splashed through shallow puddles, and everything carried a hum — quiet, dangerous and expectant but Leya Anderson didn’t rush through it She moved with the slow certainty of someone who knew exactly where she needed to be.For weeks she had followed Samuel Blackwood’s routines, keeping her distance while learning every flaw in his carefully curated armor Meetings that went on longer than they should have. Indulgences he thought no one noticed the weaknesses he disguised as confidence and tonight, the path she’d mapped out led her straight to The Velvet Room — a club that promised exclusivity and delivered rot disguised as glamour.She sat at the backseat of her car, the interior dim quiet while One of her bodyguards waited just outside the door and the others had spread across the parking lot blending into the edges where shadows pooled and Leya barely looked at them, Her attention was on the go

The city hadn’t fully woken yet. Only the hum of early traffic and a few stray lights cut through the darkness when Leya’s SUV slowed on a quiet street tucked between towering glass buildings. The office she stopped in front of didn’t draw attention — a small door, a small sign: Armand & Associates. The kind of place people walked past without a glance.Perfect.Leya stepped out, her heels clicking on damp pavement. Her coat moved with her like a dark current. Two bodyguards followed, but she lifted a hand before reaching the door.A simple gesture.I go in alone.Inside, the office felt old in a comforting way. The shelves lined with leather-bound books, the smell of paper and ink settling in the air and Mr. Armand was already standing behind his cluttered desk trying not to show his nerves and failing to hide his nerves. His glasses slid down his nose as he bowed his head slightly, “You brought it?” he asked, his voice low but Leya didn’t answer right away. She set her bag on the c