24. Zaria #3
"Boss." Dante nods respectfully. "She tried yelling for help about an hour ago. We shut her up."
"How?"
"Duct tape. Figured you wouldn't want her dead yet."
"Good thinking." I push open the door and step inside.
Ezinne's exactly where we left her—tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood dried on her face and clothes.
Someone taped her mouth shut with silver duct tape, and her eyes track us with pure hatred as we enter.
The broken knee is swollen to twice its normal size, the dislocated shoulder hanging at an unnatural angle.
She looks like hell. Perfect.
"Time to go for a ride." I circle her slowly, letting her see me, see Greer standing tall despite his injuries, see Cain's cold assessment. "Your brother wants you back. We're going to make sure he pays the right price."
Ezinne tries to speak through the tape, the words muffled and desperate.
"Save it." I rip the tape off in one quick motion, making her gasp. "You had your chance to talk in the interrogation. Now you get to be leverage."
"He'll kill you," she spits, blood flecking her lips. "All of you. Chisom doesn't negotiate with?—"
Greer moves before I can, backhanding her hard enough that her head snaps to the side. The violence is casual, efficient, shutting her up mid-threat. His face shows no emotion, just cold practicality.
"Your brother's going to do exactly what we tell him," he says, voice flat. "Because the alternative is getting you back in pieces. Test me on this."
Ezinne stares at him with something like fear, finally recognizing that the clean-cut man she tortured isn't playing victim anymore. He's dangerous now, forged by pain into something sharp and unyielding.
"Get her up." I gesture to Cain. "We're taking my car. You follow on your bike."
Cain cuts her restraints and hauls Ezinne to her feet. She can't put weight on the broken knee, so he half-carries, half-drags her toward the stairs. She doesn't fight—smart enough to know it's useless with three of us and her injuries.
We load her into the Challenger's backseat, Greer sitting beside her to make sure she doesn't try anything stupid. Cain takes point on his motorcycle, leading us through Jersey toward Newark and the warehouse where Chisom's hiding like a coward.
The drive takes twenty minutes. Nobody speaks—Ezinne because she's smart enough to stay quiet, Greer because he's watching her like a hawk, me because I'm planning exactly how this negotiation will go.
Chisom gets his sister back alive in exchange for binding peace terms. Okafor crew stays in their territory, no more expansion attempts.
They pay reparations for the damage to our operations.
Any future conflicts get handled through neutral arbitration, not violence.
If they break terms, we keep Ezinne and start taking their territory piece by piece
Simple. Clean. Enforceable.
The Newark warehouse appears ahead—a sprawling industrial building with minimal lighting. Cain signals and pulls to the side, letting me take the lead. I park fifty feet from the main entrance, close enough to be seen but far enough to retreat if needed.
"Stay with her," I tell Greer, gesturing to Ezinne. "If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."
His eyes meet mine, understanding passing between us. If this turns into a firefight, he puts a bullet in Ezinne's head and gets himself to safety. No heroics, no trying to save me. Just survival.
"Be careful," he says softly.
"Always." I lean across and kiss him once, tasting blood and promise. Then I'm out of the car, Cain falling into step beside me as we approach the warehouse entrance.
The doors open before we reach them.
Chisom Okafor steps out flanked by four personal guards, all armed. He's exactly like Ezinne described—mid-forties, expensive suit, calculated calm. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes immediately search for his sister.
"Ms. Bennett." His accent is cultured, British-educated Nigerian. "I assume you're here to discuss terms."
"I'm here to end a war your sister started." I stop ten feet away, hands visible but ready. "You wanted to expand into my territory. That was a mistake."
"Business is business." His tone is reasonable, diplomatic. "Surely we can reach an accommodation."
"We can." I gesture to the Challenger where Ezinne's visible in the backseat, bloodied and beaten. "Your sister tortured someone I care about. So I took her apart piece by piece until she told me everything. Now you're going to agree to my terms, and I'll give her back alive."
Chisom's mask slips for just a second—rage flashing across his features before he controls it. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I kill her in front of you and we go to war." Simple truth. "Your crew is depleted, your product is gone, and I have alliances you can't match. You'll lose everything trying to save face."
Silence stretches between us while he calculates, weighing pride against pragmatism. His guards shift nervously, hands on weapons but not drawing. Smart—they know this could go bad fast.
Finally, Chisom's shoulders drop fractionally. "What are your terms?"
I smile. We've won.