*Six months after the Shard*
The assassination attempt came disguised as a flower delivery.
Seraphina was reviewing intelligence reports in the newly fortified headquarters of the Marcus Kane Foundation—a gleaming tower of steel and glass that had replaced their old offices after the third bombing attempt—when MacLeod's voice crackled through the intercom with deadly urgency.
"Ma'am, step away from the windows. Now."
Seraphina didn't hesitate. Six months of living as the most hunted woman in the world had taught her to trust MacLeod's instincts without question. She dove behind the bulletproof desk just as the innocent bouquet of roses exploded, sending razor-sharp petals and enough shrapnel to kill a rhinoceros through the reinforced glass.
"Status report," she said calmly, checking herself for injuries while her ears rang from the blast.
"Florist van, stolen this morning from a legitimate business in Camden. Driver eliminated, but not before activating what appears to be a secondary device." MacLeod's voice was grim. "Sir, we have a problem. The explosion was a distraction."
Through the smoke and debris, Seraphina could see armed figures rappelling from helicopters onto the building's roof. Professional gear, military precision, the kind of coordinated assault that cost serious money to organize.
"The Trident Group?" she asked, recognizing the tactical signature of the mercenary organization that had emerged from the Meridian Syndicate's ashes.
"Confirmed. Twelve operatives, heavy weapons, and..." MacLeod paused, her voice taking on a note of concern that Seraphina had never heard before. "Ma'am, they're not here to kill you."
"What?"
"They're here to take you alive. The equipment signatures suggest restraints, sedatives, extraction rather than elimination."
That was new. And infinitely more terrifying than a simple assassination attempt.
Seraphina was already moving toward the emergency elevator that would take her to the building's secure bunker levels when her secure phone buzzed with an incoming video call. The caller ID showed only a symbol she'd learned to recognize with cold dread—the three-pronged spear that gave the Trident Group its name.
She answered while running, not bothering to hide her location since they obviously knew exactly where she was.
"Mrs. Blackwood," came a voice that was electronically distorted but unmistakably amused. "I do hope you're not planning to leave before our conversation concludes."
"Depends on the quality of the conversation," she replied, reaching the secure elevator just as explosions echoed through the building above. "So far, you're bombing my office and landing armed mercenaries on my roof. Not exactly conducive to productive dialogue."
"Ah, but dialogue isn't our goal today." The voice took on a tone of mock regret. "You see, Mrs. Blackwood, your little revelation about the Meridian Syndicate caused some very inconvenient disruptions to certain business arrangements. Arrangements that took decades to establish and generated considerable profit for all involved parties."
"Good," Seraphina said, stepping into the elevator and watching the building's security systems track the intruders' movements. "I hope it cost you billions."
"It did. Which is why our clients have decided that simple elimination is insufficient punishment. They want their money back, Mrs. Blackwood. All of it. And they want you to help them reclaim what your foundation has cost them."
The elevator descended past the building's official basement levels, into depths that weren't on any architectural plans. Emergency lighting cast eerie shadows on reinforced concrete walls thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast.
"Let me guess," Seraphina said, checking her weapons while the elevator continued its descent. "Kidnap me, torture me until I reveal financial records and access codes, then use the foundation's resources to rebuild your criminal network."
"Precisely. I knew you were intelligent." The voice carried genuine appreciation. "Though I should mention that your husband is facing similar attention at this very moment. The Blackwood family's considerable resources would also be quite useful for our reconstruction efforts."
Ice filled Seraphina's veins, but her voice remained steady. "Damien's not as easy to capture as you might think."
"Perhaps not. But everyone has vulnerabilities, Mrs. Blackwood. Even the devil's heir."
The elevator stopped at Sub-Level Five, opening onto a command center that rivaled anything the intelligence services possessed. Banks of monitors showed real-time feeds from across the globe, communication equipment that could coordinate operations on every continent, and enough weaponry to outfit a small army.
Isabel Ashford looked up from the central console, her face grim with concern. "Seraphina, thank God. Damien's in trouble."
"Define trouble."
"Cornered at the London Library charity gala. At least twenty hostiles, professional coordination, and they've taken the other guests hostage to prevent him from fighting his way out." Isabel pulled up satellite feeds showing the library surrounded by emergency vehicles. "They're not trying to kill him—they want him alive."
"For the same reason they want me." Seraphina moved to the weapons locker, selecting items with practiced efficiency. "They need access to our resources to rebuild what we destroyed."
"Which means they won't hurt either of you until they get what they want," Michael Ashford added from his position at the communications array. "But they will hurt innocent people to ensure your cooperation."
On the monitors, Seraphina could see the hostages—London's literary elite, gathered for what should have been a peaceful evening celebrating literacy programs. Now they were human shields in a war they'd never chosen to join.
"How many?" she asked.
"Two hundred guests, plus staff. All trapped in the main reading room with enough explosives to level half the block." Isabel's voice was tight with anger. "These people aren't soldiers, Seraphina. They're teachers, librarians, writers. They don't deserve to die for our war."
"No, they don't." Seraphina checked her gear one final time, her expression settling into the cold focus that had become her trademark. "Which is why they won't."
"You can't just walk into a trap," Michael protested. "That's exactly what they want."
"Of course it is." Her smile was sharp as winter morning. "But they're making the same mistake everyone makes with the Blackwoods. They assume we play by their rules."
She moved to the secure communication station, opening channels to assets she'd spent months positioning around the globe. The Marcus Kane Foundation had grown beyond a simple charity—it had become a network of investigators, reformed criminals, government officials who valued justice over politics, and resources that made intelligence agencies envious.
"MacLeod, status on the building assault?"
"Neutralized," came the crisp reply. "All hostiles eliminated or captured. But ma'am, the attack was a diversion. They never intended to succeed here."
"They wanted to drive me underground, separate me from surface communications, make me think I was trapped." Seraphina was already moving toward a different elevator, one that would take her not down but up, to a private helipad that didn't officially exist. "While their main force moved on Damien."
"Ma'am, where are you going?"
"To collect my husband and remind the Trident Group why threatening innocent people is a terminal mistake."
The helicopter that waited on the concealed rooftop platform was matte black, armed with equipment that would have made military pilots weep with envy. As it lifted off into the London night, Seraphina felt the familiar thrill of pieces falling into place.
"Isabel," she said through the aircraft's communication system, "I need you to trace every financial transaction the Trident Group has made in the past six months. Find their funding sources, their operational bases, their leadership structure."
"Already on it. But Seraphina, what you're planning—"
"Is exactly what they'd do to us, but with better technology and clearer moral justification." Her voice carried the authority that had made her one of the most feared women in the world. "The difference is, when we eliminate threats, we make sure they stay eliminated."
The London Library appeared below them, surrounded by police cordons and news crews broadcasting the hostage situation to a global audience. But Seraphina's attention was focused on the thermal imaging that showed the disposition of forces inside the building.
"Twenty-three hostiles, confirmed," the helicopter pilot reported. "Explosives wired throughout the main reading room, remote detonation capabilities. But ma'am, there's something else. Heat signature in the basement suggests additional personnel—possibly VIP prisoners."
"Damien," she breathed, then switched to tactical communications. "All units, this is Queen. Initiate Protocol Omega."
Protocol Omega was something they'd hoped never to use—total warfare, no prisoners, complete elimination of threats regardless of collateral considerations. It was the nuclear option of anti-corruption operations.
"Ma'am," came MacLeod's voice, tight with concern, "Protocol Omega means—"
"It means the Trident Group just learned what happens when they threaten my family." Seraphina's smile was visible in the helicopter's windows, sharp and cold and absolutely merciless. "And the world is about to discover that the devil's queen doesn't negotiate with terrorists."
"She eliminates them."
As the helicopter began its attack run on the library, as coordinated strikes hit Trident Group facilities across three continents, as financial warfare froze their assets and legal warfare destroyed their corporate shields, Seraphina felt the familiar satisfaction of justice being served.
But this time, it came with a price. The innocent hostages, the civilian casualties that were inevitable in this kind of operation, the knowledge that her war against corruption had escalated beyond anything she'd originally intended.
Six months ago, she'd been fighting individual criminals. Now she was waging a global campaign against systematic evil, with resources that rivaled governments and a willingness to use methods that would have horrified the scholarship girl she'd once been.
The devil's queen had claimed her throne. But every crown came with a cost.
And Seraphina was beginning to understand that the price of justice might be higher than she'd ever imagined.
The war was far from over. If anything, it was just beginning.
And this time, she intended to win it permanently.