Chapter 13 Zahra #2
Bingo. Now her fantasies made sense. “You’re reading dark romances again, aren’t you? Are we still into the masked men? Or are they stalkers now?”
“My current read features both. He wears a Jason Voorhees mask, secretly pays her bills, and fucks her brains out. Mask on. A girl can dream.” Azula lets out a dreamy sigh and laughs at whatever expression is on my face. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”
“I’m not here to kink shame. Whatever gets you going. I just don’t think your romance fantasy applies here.” I point between myself and the image of Declan on the screen.
The tall blonde model he’s talking to is an absolute bombshell and buying whatever he’s selling as she tilts her head back in laughter.
No way anything he said was that funny. I’d been around him long enough to know.
He gives her a soft smile that reveals a hint of a dimple, and excuses himself before heading in our direction.
“We should clear out. Looks like Aidan and Declan are on their way here.” I gather the train of my dress, exiting the security room with Azula in tow as we walk closer to the back of the stage.
Moving the curtain toward the side, I take in the hundreds of people filing in toward their seats at the dining tables, and my throat begins to tighten.
Public speaking was never something I particularly enjoyed doing, though I’ve never felt anxiety quite like this.
Giving a presentation in class pales in comparison to convincing some of the cruelest and lethal killers in the world to respect you.
My fingers release the curtain and move to the gold necklace around my neck.
A reminder that my parents were here with me in spirit, and that they raised me to be strong.
They raised me to overcome every obstacle in my way.
And that was exactly what I would do tonight.
I just wish they would be able to see me do it.
The creaking sound of the stage door opening grabs my attention, bringing me back to the current moment.
Aidan walks in first, his hands casually tucked into his pockets matching his tousled hair and the ‘too cool for school’ smirk he was rocking.
He flashes me a wink, before stiffening as he takes in Azula.
She waves at him, revealing her elongated and sharpened nails that practically look like claws.
Knowing her, she probably could stab someone’s eyes out with those if she wanted.
Declan enters a moment later, eyes widening as he nearly stumbles on the flat ground in front of him. He manages to save himself but his eyes remain trained on my body, namely my decently exposed cleavage. A subtle red blush starts to form on his cheeks as he clears his throat and swallows. Hard.
“Zahra, you look incredible. No one will be able to take their eyes off you.” His voice comes out hoarse, like he was in desperate need of a drink. Azula hands him a bottle of water, which he chugs in a matter of seconds.
“Well, I figured everyone would be fixated on me regardless. May as well give them something to look at.” I attempt to sound lighthearted, but at this moment, all I can feel is a tightness in my stomach as Declan continues to look at me.
A tightness combined with a slight heat.
Maybe I should wrap one of the curtains around me… .
One of the stage managers walks over toward us, frantically whispering into their headset while feverishly checking off the to-do list on their clipboard. “Declan, we're ready for you. The rest of you can also follow me.”
The Irishman shoots me a thumbs-up before being dragged through the curtains. Azula, Aidan, and I move into the wings as Declan introduces himself and begins his speech.
“On behalf of the McAlister and Ahzimi families, we would like to thank you all for being in attendance today. Though our families have experienced insurmountable tragedies in the last two months, I can speak for myself when I say I know that Naser Ahzimi would be so incredibly grateful for your generosity and commitment in continuing to attend his annual charity gala. Through your kind donations, we have raised over three million dollars to support mental health services for youth of color in our city. As a token of my appreciation for all the Ahzimi’s have done to support our city, my family vows to match any donations made today. ” Declan pauses to take a breath.
And my ridiculous heart flutters. He can’t be serious, can he? This has to all be a part of some long game he was playing to get closer to me before he drove a knife in my back…right?
I turn to Aidan, who leans over to me. “It was both of our ideas. There’s not a lot of good we can do in the world. But this was one thing we could do.”
The fluttering of my heart now turns into a full-blown pounding.
Declan wasn’t being duplicitous, and I was wrong in assuming he was.
I was wrong. Or maybe Declan was just that cunning.
He not only had me fooled, he also had his brother fooled.
That’s possible, isn’t it? My brain feels like it’s racing at a thousand miles per hour, going through every single moment of my life leading up to my father’s death.
All the pieces of evidence I collected afterward pointed to a cover-up.
The evidence that pointed at Declan. It had to be him.
He had to be the killer. Because if it wasn’t him, I just spent two months letting my father’s actual assassin run free.
It would mean that I had failed my father. And I couldn’t fail him.
The applause from the audience dies down, allowing Declan to continue.
“In addition to giving the speech, I have the honor and privilege of introducing the new leader of the Persian Tea Enterprise…” His lips form a subtle smirk as he states the cover-up company for my mafia.
“Naser Ahzimi’s daughter, Zahra Ahzimi.”
A wave of startled chatter filled with confusion comes over the room.
From backstage, I can’t hear anything specific, though I can guess what questions are being asked.
‘Daughter?’ ‘Declan misspoke, right?’ Lifting my chin up high, I step out onto the stage.
The air in the room feels like it gets sucked out immediately, as I look down at the crowd in front of me.
To my left, the Ukrainian boss has a tight grip on his drink, his eyes distrusting and also…
intrigued. He lifts his glass and tilts it in my direction.
My heart skips. I wouldn’t dare call him an ally, but his acknowledgment is far from disrespectful.
The Italians are staring at me with rage, as if they want nothing more than to rip me apart limb by limb.
Typical. In the back, the Colombians look unimpressed, but that’s their natural state.
Of all the scenarios I had imagined, the banquet hall remaining, for the most part, calm and collected, was not one of them.
I won’t fool myself into thinking everything is okay. This is the calm before the storm, and I have to remain alert.
Approaching the podium, I school my expression to one of indifference.
It doesn’t matter how sweaty my palms are, how breathing feels like a chore, or how fast my heart is racing.
No one in this room would know any of that.
They would just see my exterior. Collected, unbothered, and calculated. A boss.
“Thank you, Declan, for that introduction and your family’s generous donation.
” The power in my voice echoes through the speakers and surprises even me.
“I appreciate your attendance today, in honor of my father and in support of the youth in our city who will greatly benefit from your kind donations. Tonight not only serves as a continuation of my father’s legacy, but also as my opportunity to formally stake my claim to my father’s empire. ”
I pause for a moment, eyes flickering from table to table, making a mental note of who was likely already on my side and who I needed to convince.
Anger was fine—an indication that they felt threatened by me.
What I can’t have is patronizing looks or even ones of disregard.
Neither of those emotions are close enough to fear, which meant they would be the first to come for me.
“I acknowledge this is the first time most of you in the room have ever seen me. And that unfamiliarity can be uncomfortable. But rest assured that my father has taught me everything he knows and that my family’s business and our partner’s will be in great hands.
To those who we have partnered with for decades, I look forward to continuing our relations.
And for the organizations we have yet to work with, please know that our door is always open.
” I flash a lethal smile to the Italians, knowing they’re reading in between my lines.
Fuck with us, and you’ll find out how much hell I can raise.
A beat of silence is followed by a slow, yet solid wave of claps, starting from the Ukrainians.
The tension in my shoulders loosens. I won’t delude myself into thinking I’ve fully won everyone in the room over, but at the very least, I’ve staked my claim without any major public pushback.
The claps slowly make their way around as Declan steps back up to the podium next to me and speaks about our continued allyship.
I keep my gaze aimed forward at the crowd, giving myself something new to focus on so I don’t roll my eyes at every other sentence he says.
I won’t buy into his facade. As I scan the room, I’m hit with a variety of expressions.
Jealousy, fear, envy, anger, and hatred.
Hatred. My father taught me that expression is lethal.
In a blink, a man jumps to his feet and pulls out a gun, aiming it right at my chest. My hand immediately falls to the garter on my leg, reaching for my own Glock, but I’m too late.
A loud pop rings through the hall, and in an instant, I feel the cold wood of the stage pressed against my cheek and a wetness on my skin.
Moving my head to the side, I take in the pool of red under me. Blood. I’m covered in blood.