Prince of Her Heart (Al-Sintra Family #10)

Chapter 1

“Please! I’m begging you! Don’t do this to me!”

Prince Ramzi El Sandir didn’t flinch. He stood motionless across from the trembling man, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression carved from stone. His voice came low and crisp—controlled, but deadly final.

“Mark, the begging is pathetic. If this is your idea of negotiation, you’ve already lost.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough to make the older man swallow hard.

“Even if I stepped aside, Hestra Investments would take control by the end of the quarter.” He paused, letting the words hit. “Is that your endgame?”

Mark’s face drained of color. “A private equity firm? Hestra—!” His voice cracked. “They’ll gut my company!”

Ramzi didn’t blink. “Adam Hinds met with me last week. He proposed consolidating our positions.” He adjusted the cuff of his shirt with slow precision, a gesture more menacing than casual.

“I turned him down. Not because I owe you anything—but because I don’t hand my competition what they want on a silver platter. ”

“But—”

“Bondras has been on life support for years.” Ramzi’s tone turned cool, surgical.

“I respected what your father built. But that legacy ended the moment you decided to run the company on emotion instead of discipline. I’m not interested in nostalgia, Mark.

I’m here to prevent a collapse that would ripple across four sectors and would depreciate my investment. ”

Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes darting as if searching for an escape.

“Hestra owns twelve percent,” Ramzi continued, his voice like steel. “RAS Industries—through various channels—controls thirty-nine percent. Do the math.”

He did, and the expression on his features turned ashen. Ramzi watched, mentally shaking his head. But then the man did something unexpected. He rallied, straightened a little. For a moment, Ramzi felt a flicker of respect. Pathetic, but at least he was still fighting.

“I can buy you out,” Mark whispered, desperation leaking through every syllable. “I’ll pay market value. You won’t lose a dime.”

Ramzi pretended to consider the offer. He let the silence stretch, let the hope build in the other man’s eyes.

But they both knew the truth—Mark didn’t have the capital, and no financial institution in its right mind would back him.

Bondras stock had been circling the drain for two years.

The vultures were already circling, and every one of them wanted what was buried in the company’s vault: the patents.

“You can’t afford me,” Ramzi said flatly. “You didn’t even see Hestra coming to the party, Mark. And you didn’t know I was already sitting at the table while you were still fumbling with the invitation.”

The older man clenched his hands, trying to mask the tremor in his fingers.

“I’ve got new products in development—game changers.

I’ve personally developed some new formulas that will bring us back.

And my grandson,” he stammered slightly.

“He’s coming along. Some of the mistakes in the past year have been unfortunate, but he’s a good kid.

He’s learning quickly.” Then his eyes brightened.

“Also, AJC Distributors is interested.” His fingers trembled as he held them out, pleading.

“It’s all coming together. It’s just… taking longer than I expected. ”

Ramzi tilted his head slightly, as if observing a malfunctioning machine.

“You're still clinging to promises, Mark. Hopes. Not numbers. Not execution. I don’t invest in hope.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “You’re trying to convince me that the company’s future depends entirely on you, and with a deal you haven’t even closed yet. ”

“I just need time—”

“No,” Ramzi cut in sharply, impatient now.

He’d been kinder to Mark than he’d intended.

“What you need is a reality check. You’ve unintentionally confirmed two catastrophic failures: first, that the thirty scientists on your payroll have produced nothing viable in two decades.

Second, that your grandson—the supposed heir—is unprepared and untested.

” He paused just long enough to let the air tighten.

“If something happens to you, Bondras collapses. That’s not a business. That’s a liability.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest again.

Ramzi’s stare turned lethal. “Don’t mention the new products again.

If they were half as promising as you claim, you would’ve led with data.

Instead, all I’ve heard is panic.” He stood, buttoning his jacket with deliberate calm.

“I’ll be meeting with your board this afternoon. This conversation is over.”

“But,” Mark started again, standing as well. His shorter height compared to Ramzi’s six-foot-three frame didn’t help the man’s confidence—but Ramzi respected him for trying.

“The new products,” Mark pressed. “They really are good. And if I could just get them to market, the profits might revitalize everything.”

Ramzi was already shaking his head before Mark finished speaking. “I don’t doubt your products have potential. That’s not the issue. The problem is execution—and you’re negotiating with AJC Distributors.”

“Exactly! They’ll—”

“They’re owned by Hestra Investments,” Ramzi interrupted coldly, leaning down to pull a folded document from the folder beside him and laying it flat on the table.

“This is a list of AJC shareholders,” he said, tone clipped.

Then he pointed to the next column. “And here—this is a list of Hestra’s shareholders.

Cross-reference the names. Jason Hinds owns enough of AJC to control everyone’s contracts. ”

He waited, bracing his fists on the scarred conference table, while the older man scanned the page, watching as understanding and dread slowly twisted Mark’s face.

“Hinds isn’t helping you,” Ramzi continued, voice sharp as a blade.

“He’s setting you up. He’ll bleed Bondras dry with inflated distribution fees and he’ll delay your contracts until you have no revenue, all while increasing Hestra’s leverage.

Within months, there won’t be enough revenue coming to afford payroll.

He’ll force you to sell your remaining stocks, which will trigger a total acquisition at a fraction of your company’s worth. ”

Ramzi straightened again, watching the older man carefully. At one point, Mark Bondras had been a legend in the chemical engineering world. His products had revolutionized industries. But mismanagement had taken a toll. Ramzi let the silence stretch long enough to feel heavy.

Mark looked up, the agony in his eyes naked now. “What can I do? How can I stop this?”

Striving for patience when he should have walked out of this meeting long ago, Ramzi sighed.

“Hestra is a private equity firm, Mark. Their playbook is predictable—strip, downsize, and sell for parts. They’ll lay off more than half your staff.

Which, frankly, should’ve happened already.

” Ramzi’s voice didn’t waver. “You’ve allowed personal loyalty to cloud your judgment while managing this company, Mark.

You kept people on payroll who should’ve been let go a decade ago.

And then—because legacy was more important than leadership—you handed your grandson a title without purpose. ”

Ramzi turned and looked out the window, looming over the smaller man.

His words cut clean and deep. “That boy—because that’s what he is—hired his college drinking buddies.

” He looked back at the older man who seemed to have aged in the past twenty minutes.

“They’ve been drawing salaries and laughing behind your back.

You know it. They do nothing but play golf and spend company money on bottle service and networking ‘retreats.’”

“No,” Mark breathed, shaking his head. But there was no fire left in his voice—only the hollow ache of truth settling in.

Ramzi saw the opening and drove it home.

“You want to save Bondras? Then stop pretending. I’ve given you an offer that protects the core of your company.

Your patents remain intact. Your name stays on the products.

Your pension plan stays funded and your employees will be paid on time.

The only thing I’m asking is for you to step aside and stop the bleeding before there’s nothing left to save. ”

He paused, his voice softening a fraction—just enough to show he understood. “I know you want to leave something behind. I respect that. I know what it means to protect a legacy.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the shadow of his father, Sheik Amit el Sandir, crossed his mind.

The Crown of Uftar wasn’t handed to the unworthy—and Ramzi had spent a lifetime proving he wasn’t soft.

He didn’t flinch from hard decisions. He didn’t fold under pressure.

And he would never let sentimentality dictate strategy.

“But legacies aren’t gifts, Mark,” he said quietly. “They’re built. Earned. Your grandson hasn’t earned his.”

Mark stared at the documents in front of him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of failure and fear. Ramzi could practically see the capitulation unfolding in his eyes—the final, reluctant surrender to reality.

“Yes,” Mark finally whispered. “The package is very good.” He took a shaky breath. “But how do I know you won’t fire everyone?”

“You don’t,” Ramzi replied flatly. “Once I take over Bondras, I’ll shift part of the operation to my country, most likely in the capital of Uftar. I will fire the dead weight. Anyone not actively contributing to the company’s advancement will be removed.” His voice held no emotion—just fact.

“There will still be a presence in Philadelphia,” Ramzi continued, calm and surgical.

“Scientists will remain here. But they’ll report to and coordinate with a central research division in Uftar.

That’s where the real innovation will happen.

” His voice lowered slightly, more measured than kind.

“You have some excellent products, Mark. The patents alone were worth the price I paid in shares. But your staff aren’t getting those products to the industries that need them. That’s failure, not loyalty.”

Mark nodded slowly, the weight of defeat sinking deep into his shoulders. His hazel eyes, once defiant, now looked hollow. He leaned back in his chair and, for the first time, looked every minute of his seventy-one years.

“Will you at least keep my grandson employed?” he asked quietly.

“Not a chance,” Ramzi said without hesitation. “He’s been passing information to Hestra behind your back.”

Mark blinked, stunned. Then he shook his head sharply, anger flaring. “You’re lying. Jeff would never—”

Ramzi didn’t argue. Marwan, Ramzi’s assistant, pulled a photo from the folder and slid it across the table. Jeff Bondras, grinning on a yacht, drink in hand, surrounded by five Hestra executives, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Mark stared at the image. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The fire in his eyes faded into something far older, something brittle. Grief and shame collapsed his defenses all at once.

Ramzi glanced at his watch. He’d given this meeting more time than necessary.

The only justification was the small measure of respect he had for Mark—the man who had once built Bondras from nothing with grit and vision.

But misplaced loyalty had blinded him. The people he'd trusted had used him, bled him dry, and handed the company to outsiders on a silver platter.

“Mark,” Ramzi said, voice quiet but firm as he leaned against the wall, “my offer is more than fair. You can sell me your shares and allow Bondras to expand into international markets—or I’ll sell my shares to Hestra.

” He let that hang for a beat, then delivered the final blow.

“But we both know private equity managers are the vultures of the business world. They strip the meat, auction off the bones, and leave nothing behind but debt and severance notices.”

Mark’s jaw tensed.

“My offer is good for the next thirty seconds,” Ramzi added. “After that, I leave and move on to my next meeting.”

He nodded once to Marwan, who immediately began gathering the documents with practiced precision.

Mark gasped and slapped a hand over the contract. “I’ll sign,” he whispered.

Ramzi didn’t move, didn’t blink. He simply watched as Mark picked up the pen and scrawled his name. The signature was shaky, but legible. The lawyer next to him immediately signed as witness.

Ramzi nodded, satisfied. “You made the right choice.” He stood, powerful and composed. Marwan swept everything into the folder and rose beside him.

“The funds will be in your account within the hour.”