Chapter 29
Echoes of the Bloodline
The heavy tyres of the first armoured Rolls-Royce Phantom come to a smooth halt against the curb, its glossy black finish catching the harsh glare of the venue's external floodlights.
A pristine crimson carpet stretches from the roadside all the way into the towering, glass-fronted main entrance of the exclusive skyscraper.
One by one, the heavy vehicle doors click open in perfect synchronization.
Lucius Blackwood steps out first, extending a gloved hand to guide Tessa onto the pavement.
Following right behind them from the second vehicle, Victor escorts Emily with a cold, protective posture, his eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops.
Alex and Olivia emerge from the third car, while the final door opens to reveal Teajun.
He steps out entirely alone, carrying the heavy mahogany box containing the exceptionally rare vintage wine laced with twenty-four-carat gold and intricate diamond detailing.
The group bypasses the crowded main lobby entirely, escorted directly toward the private, high-security express elevator reserved for VIP guests.
The ride up to the penthouse floor is silent, but the moment the steel doors slide open, the atmosphere shifts into something distinctly hostile.
The entire top floor is thick with muscle—dozens of broad-shouldered bodyguards and heavy security personnel wearing Ralph’s corporate crest.
Before Lucius can even scan the room, Ralph himself cuts through the sea of tuxedoed guests. A wide, calculated smile stretches across his face as he approaches, clapping a heavy hand onto Lucius’s shoulder before pulling him into a brief, tight embrace.
"I know you'd make it here at any cost, buddy," Ralph barks, his voice booming over the low chatter of the live jazz band.
He pulls back, offering a firm handshake to Alex and Victor, before turning his gaze toward the women.
A fleeting, dark look crosses Ralph's eyes, but he masks it instantly, bowing deeply in an exaggerated display of respect.
"Ladies, you look absolutely magnificent tonight. Please, enjoy the party. Dropping ten million dollars to rent out the sky with the finest drinks and lights for one single night is only worth it if my best guests are enjoying themselves."
Teajun steps forward, his expression completely blank as he hands over the mahogany box. "Happy birthday, Ralph," he says, his tone flat and clinical.
"Ah, the good stuff," Ralph chuckles, handing the rare vintage off to a nearby waiter. "Go on, get yourselves a drink. The night is young."
An hour passes in a blur of clinking crystal glasses and shallow corporate pleasantries. The journey to the venue has been long, and the stiff, tense air of the gala is beginning to take its toll on the women. Emily catches Olivia's eye, gesturing subtly toward the far side of the grand hall.
"I need to check my makeup," Emily murmurs, leaning close to Tessa. "Come with us to the restroom. The air in here is suffocating."
Tessa nods faintly, grateful for the excuse to escape the heavy gazes of the city's elite.
On the opposite side of the ballroom, Lucius stands like a dark monolith, surrounded by a group of high-profile politicians and foreign investors, his sharp eyes tracking Tessa’s movement across the room until she disappears behind the heavy velvet curtains of the lounge.
Inside the lavish marble restroom, the three women stand before the wide, illuminated mirrors. Tessa leans against the counter, taking a deep, steadying breath. But the momentary peace shatters when the heavy doors swing open.
An older woman steps inside. Her clothes are slightly wrinkled, looking entirely out of place in the opulent setting, but it is her eyes that catch Olivia's attention.
They are not looking at the luxury amenities; they are scanning the room with a frantic, calculating precision, locking onto Tessa for a fraction of a second before darting toward Emily and Olivia.
Emily does not say a word, her sharp mind already predicting the hidden variables of the situation.
Instead of confronting the intruder, she merely watches as the older woman pulls a matte lipstick from her small evening clutch.
The woman’s hands tremble slightly as she applies a thick layer of colour to her lips, her gaze constantly shifting toward the door.
The moment she finishes, she caps the lipstick and hurries out without washing her hands.
It has not been an ordinary bathroom break.
It feels entirely like a reconnaissance mission—a quick, desperate check to confirm that Tessa, Lucius, and the rest of the inner circle are exactly where they are supposed to be.
Meanwhile, Ralph approaches Lucius’s group, gesturing toward a heavily guarded door at the back of the hall. "Come with me, gentlemen. There are some people in the VIP room who have been dying to meet the famous Blackwood inner circle."
The private VIP lounge is soundproofed, illuminated only by dim amber lights and the glowing embers of expensive cigars. Sitting on the leather sofas are two foreign leaders whose reputations precede them in the global underbelly.
A broad-shouldered man with ice-blue eyes leans forward, a glass of neat vodka in his hand.
"Mr. Blackwood," the Russian mafia leader, Maxim Kuznetsov, says his voice a low, grizzly rumble that fills the room.
"The last legacy of the Blackwood bloodline. Lucius, you are doing remarkable work in this territory. It is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you in person."
Lucius offers a single, stiff nod, his posture rigid. Before he can speak, the man sitting across from Maxim clears his throat. Kenji Oshiro, the formidable head of the Japanese Syndicate, leans back, a mocking smirk playing on his lips as he looks past Lucius toward the doorway.
"Tell me, Blackwood," Kenji says his tone sharp. "Did a man like you really come all this way alone with just these few soldiers? Where are the women I hear so much about?"
Lucius's jaw locks, a dangerous, icy aura radiating from his frame. He instantly catches the subtext. Kenji is not asking out of politeness; the man is trying to map out their vulnerabilities, testing to see if their defences are compromised.
But before Lucius can deliver a lethal verbal warning, Teajun steps forward, cutting him off with a chillingly calm demeanor.
"Why, Sir? Do you find yourself incapable of standing ground without a woman by your side? Out of options, perhaps? Because if memory serves, you already have three or four of your hostesses waiting for you downstairs."
Maxim Kuznetsov lets out a dark, amused chuckle, leaning his heavy frame against the back of the sofa. "Sit down, men," the Russian mutters, waving his cigar toward the empty chairs. "We are all businessmen here. There is no need to draw blood before the toasts are poured."
On the other side of the penthouse, Tessa, Emily, and Olivia step out of the restroom, but the crowded ballroom is overwhelming. The guys are nowhere to be seen, likely buried deep in the private meeting rooms.
Suddenly, a sharp vibration rattles against Tessa’s palm. She looks down at her phone screen, her breath catching instantly in her throat. The message is from an encrypted number, but the opening words make her blood run cold.
I know you’re at the party. I need to tell you something that might finally give you a peaceful future. Don't tell the others. Just take the service elevator at the back and come down to the ground floor right now.
Tessa stares at the words, her mind racing.
It is Nisha. The woman who abandons her, the woman who holds the keys to her mother’s mysterious past.
Tessa knows she should tell Emily and Olivia, but a sudden, desperate urge to find answers overrides her judgment.
She tries to act completely normal, stepping back into the shadow of a pillar.
"I'll be right back, guys. I just need some fresh air near the balcony," she murmurs.
The moment Emily and Olivia turn their heads to scan the crowd, Tessa slips through the service door, running down the narrow hallway toward the back-side elevator. She hits the button, her heart hammering violently against her ribs as the steel doors close, plunging her into isolation.
When the elevator doors finally slide open on the ground floor, she meets pitch-black darkness. This is the abandoned, un-renovated loading dock at the very rear of the building—completely separate from the front entrance that is currently flooded with bright red carpets and wealthy guests.
Standing beneath a single flickering utility light is a frail, shivering figure.
"Nisha aunty?" Tessa’s voice cracks, the heavy silence of the concrete room swallowing her whisper.
Nisha turns around. The moment her hollow, tear-stained eyes lock onto Tessa, the older woman breaks down, huge, ragged sobs racking her fragile frame.
Tessa takes a hesitant step forward, torn between the bitter anger of being abandoned and the raw instinct to comfort the only maternal figure she has left. "Nisha aunty, I’m here. Please, just tell me what’s wrong. What do you mean by a peaceful future?"
Nisha falls to her knees on the cold concrete, her hands covering her face in an agony of regret. "Your father, Tessa... your British father... he is not who you think he is. He works directly with Alessio Gambino’s father. He is a trusted man in their circle."
Tessa freezes, the air leaving her lungs. No. That cannot be true.
"His father is a monster, Tessa," Nisha sobs, her voice echoing violently against the concrete walls.
"He... he tries to ruin your mother. He tries to force himself on her. That is the real reason your father takes his money and abandons you both—he flees the fallout. And now, the Gambinos are hunting you. I do not know why, but they want you dead. They are psychopaths, Tessa.
They do not leave survivors."
Tessa’s entire world begins to tilt, the weight of the generational lie crushing her chest.
"I am so sorry, sweetie," Nisha weeps, looking up with eyes full of absolute terror.