Chapter 6
The silence in the courtyard was profound, broken only by the pathetic, ragged gasps coming from Javier as he struggled uselessly against the crushing weight on his spine. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the sweat pouring down Javier’s fair, flushed face as he writhed in the dirt.
"Get off me!" Javier wheezed, his legs kicking wildly against the grass, attempting to buck Dante off his back.
Dante did not budge. He simply applied a fraction of an inch more pressure to the twisted arm held securely in his tattooed hand. Javier shrieked, instantly freezing his struggles to avoid snapping his own shoulder bone.
While Dante maintained total physical dominance over the man on the ground, the estate’s security apparatus seamlessly sprang into action.
Two massive, white American bodyguards, dressed in crisp professional suits, stepped out from the perimeter. They moved with silent, military precision, entirely ignoring the groaning man on the grass. They positioned themselves directly in front of Leo and Mia. The guards formed a wide, impenetrable wall of dark wool and muscle, gently ushering the two frightened children a few steps backward, ensuring they were completely safe and insulated from the violence occurring just feet away.
"It's okay, Leo. Your father has it handled," one of the bodyguards murmured softly, keeping his eyes constantly scanning the terrified crowd for any secondary threats.
Nearby, the family members recoiled. Clara, Javier’s wife, had sunk to her knees on the grass, her elegant summer outfit pooling around her. She pressed her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks, utterly horrified by her husband's actions and the devastating consequences that were now unfolding. Other capos and associates exchanged nervous, wide-eyed glances, mentally calculating the political fallout of this public humiliation.
Dante looked down at the back of Javier’s head. The anger radiating from the Mafia Boss was cold, sharp, and terrifyingly controlled. He had not lost his temper; he was executing a precise, psychological dismantling of a threat to his bloodline.
"You thought," Dante whispered.
His deep, raspy voice was barely audible, intended only for the man pinned beneath his knee. The slow, measured cadence of his words felt heavier than physical blows.
"That a child... was a suitable target... for your pathetic inadequacies," Dante continued, his tone dripping with an absolute, lethal disgust.
May you like
"I was drunk, Dante! I'm sorry!" Javier sobbed into the grass, his false bravado entirely shattered, replaced by the genuine, unadulterated terror of a man realizing he might not survive the afternoon. "Please! Let me up!"
Dante remained perfectly still for three agonizingly long seconds, letting the silence and the pain fully impress the severity of the mistake upon his cousin. The bright, vivid colors of the afternoon sun beat down on them, casting long, sharp shadows across the lawn. Finally, Dante’s cold, intimidating eyes narrowed. It was time to deliver the final lesson.
