More than a few mutters of agreement rose up at his words. For as crooked, low-down, dirty, rotten, and double-dealing as the members of the Ashland underworld were, they still respected one thing above all others—strength.
Trapping your enemy with lies, bribes, and other machinations was all well and good. But twisting the knife in your enemy’s heart yourself? Well, that was even better. It proved that you had the guts to take what you wanted, and damn anyone who tried to show you the error of your ways. That’s what Mab had done, and it was one of the reasons she’d held on to her power, position, and influence for so long.
Madeline strolled over to Montoya, her long white gown rippling around her body. The crowd fell back so that the two of them stood alone in the center of the dance floor.
“Just because I didn’t kill Blanco with my bare hands or some crude instrument doesn’t mean that I wasn’t responsible for her death,” Madeline said. “She lost everything because of me, and her friends are well on their way to doing the same. I’ve always had a slightly different philosophical approach than my mother. Why merely kill your enemies when you can torture them before you utterly destroy them?”
“Please,” Montoya sneered again. “You can spout your pretty words all you want, but we all know the real reason you didn’t face down Blanco yourself—because you don’t have the magic to do something like that. Your mother, now, she was a real elemental, and she showed us all just how much power she had. So many times that we could never, ever forget. But you? You’re nothing but a spoiled little princess, coming in here, stomping your foot, and telling us all how you think it’s going to be.”
Madeline arched a delicate eyebrow. “You think that I’m not strong?”
He looked down his nose at her. “Not like your mother.”
She let out a soft laugh, but everyone in the ballroom could hear the malice in it loud and clear. Uncertainty filled Montoya’s face, finally overpowering his arrogance, but it was already far too late for any apology.
Madeline casually flicked her wrist, as if she were dismissing his harsh words and bitter accusations with a simple wave of her hand. But it was so much more sinister than that. A few small green drops flew out of her fingertips, streaking through the air like emerald comets.
The acid spattered onto Montoya’s face.
He screamed, his skin immediately blistering, burning, and smoking as the caustic liquid ate and ate away at it. In an instant, his handsome features had been irrevocably scarred. By the time ten seconds had passed, his bronze skin was melting quicker than candle wax. At the thirty-second mark, the white of his cheekbones was peeking through the bubbling red flesh that was sloughing off his face bit by gruesome bit.
Montoya went down on his knees, clawing like a wild animal at his own skin in a desperate attempt to gouge the acid out of what remained of his face.
But it was too late.
Montoya collapsed in a heap on the floor, clawing, kicking, thrashing, and screaming all the while. Madeline jerked her head at Emery. The giant drew a gun out from under her black suit jacket, stepped forward, and put three bullets into Montoya’s disintegrating skull. Blood, bone, and brain matter flew through the air, landing with wet, sickening plop-plop-plops on the white marble floor.
Madeline stood over his body, delicately dusting off her hands as if they had a bit of unwanted dirt on them. Emery flanked her. The giant holstered her gun, even as her cold hazel gaze swept over the crowd, daring anyone else to challenge her boss.
“Well,” Madeline finally drawled, “he wanted three bullets in the head. He got them. Would anyone else like to question my new authority?”
Nobody else dared to step forward. Instead, everyone shifted uneasily on their feet. The nooses had been dropped over their necks. Now Madeline was ready to pull them tight.
“As I said,” she continued, stepping over Montoya’s burned, bloody body and approaching the crowd again, “I intend to fulfill my mother’s role as the head of the underworld. Thanks to Mr. McAllister, I know what each and every one of you was paying her. I know all about your homes, your businesses, your rivals, and everyone that supplies and supports all of your various . . . enterprises.”
With every word she said, more and more people turned their hostile glares to Jonah, who gulped down a breath and tiptoed back so that his whole body was pressed up against one of the terrace doors. I’d wondered why Madeline had kept him around this long. She must have spent these past few weeks pumping him for information on how Mab had done things—and all the tribute that she’d been getting from the other crime bosses. Smart. After a few more weeks, once everything was up and running smoothly, she could dispose of him at her leisure. I almost wouldn’t have minded letting Madeline live long enough to devise some truly dastardly fate for Jonah. But I was too committed to my plan to back down now.
Madeline glanced back at Montoya’s body. “And now, since I had to resort to such an unpleasant display, you will all be paying me an even fifty percent.”
Gasps rang out through the crowd, but I studied Madeline with new appreciation. She’d known that someone would call her out, and she was using Montoya’s death as a way to get even more than what she’d already demanded. I was willing to bet that fifty percent of everything in town was what she’d really wanted all along.
“So,” Madeline said, wrapping up her threats, “you can either accept my terms, or you can dirty up my dance floor, just like your colleague did. The choice is yours.”
It wasn’t a choice at all, but nervous chatter surged through the crowd, as everyone talked with their neighbors. But all of the sounds were small, hollow, and empty, and they quickly faded away. Madeline might not have her mother’s Fire magic, but she’d demonstrated how powerful she was in her own right. She’d already won, and everyone knew it.
Slowly, a hush fell over the crowd. Madeline smiled, looking from one face to another, daring anyone to challenge her, but no one did.
One by one, I looked at my friends, still holding their positions in various corners of the ballroom. Owen. Phillip. Xavier. Silvio. Bria. Jo-Jo. Sophia. Finn. Roslyn. They all nodded back at me and started pulling off their wigs and glasses. This was the moment we’d been waiting for, and it was finally time to make my presence known.
“Well, Maddie,” I called out in a loud, sneering drawl, “let me be the first to offer my congratulations on your new position.”