Chapter 6
The ringing silence in the hotel ballroom was absolute. The bright cinematic daylight poured over the chaotic devastation of the seating-chart display, highlighting the stark contrast between the elegant white flowers and the brutal reality of the Mafia underworld. Richard Ashford lay groaning beneath the splintered wood, entirely incapacitated.
Victoria Ashford stared at her father’s broken body, her fair, rosy skin turning a sickly, translucent white. The elegant bridal gown she wore suddenly felt like a heavy shroud. Her mind, driven by pure panic and a total loss of rational thought, scrambled for a way to regain control of the catastrophic situation.
Her manicured hands trembled as her eyes darted away from her father and locked onto the small, dusty figure of Clara Marlowe.
Victoria remembered the child’s pocket. She remembered the way Clara had guarded it, the way the faded photograph had slipped out. If the child had brought proof of Adrian’s past, there might be more evidence hidden in the folds of that cheap, dirty dress. Evidence Victoria needed to destroy to maintain her leverage.
"You ruined everything!" Victoria shrieked, her American accent cracking with hysterical desperation.
Victoria suddenly lunged forward, moving with wild, uncoordinated speed. She bypassed Adrian entirely and threw herself toward Clara, her hands reaching aggressively for the pocket of the four-year-old’s dusty flower-girl dress.
"Leave her alone!" Catherine Hale screamed from the sidelines, finally stepping forward.
Clara let out a terrified cry, turning her body to completely shield baby Mia from the attacking bride.
Adrian moved faster than thought.
He stepped directly into Victoria’s path, his broad, masculine chest forming an impenetrable wall of black wool. He raised his arm, firmly blocking her frantic, grasping hands from getting anywhere near his daughter.
"Do not... touch her," Adrian ordered, his volume terrifyingly low.
Frustrated, terrified, and entirely out of control, Victoria’s temper flared into absolute madness. Denied access to the child, she turned her fury onto the man blocking her path.
"You bastard!" Victoria screamed.
She pulled her hand back and slapped Adrian hard across the cheek. The sharp, stinging sound cracked loudly in the silent ballroom.
Adrian’s head turned slightly with the impact. He completely absorbed the hit. He did not stumble; he did not flinch. He simply stood there, letting the physical insult register in the bright, cinematic light. The red mark on his fair skin was a vivid testament to her treason.
He slowly turned his head back to face her. His cold, intimidating eyes were entirely dead.
"You... overstep," Adrian whispered.
With terrifying, fluid precision, Adrian raised his heavily tattooed hand. He did not punch her; he delivered one thunderous, devastating open-handed slap directly across Victoria’s beautiful, powdered face.
The sheer force of the blow was catastrophic. It lifted Victoria entirely off her bridal heels. She spun violently backward, her voluminous white bridal gown twisting heavily around her legs. She hurtled backward, completely out of control, flying directly toward the massive, freestanding wedding-card cabinet stationed near the gift tables.
She crashed heavily into the ornate wooden cabinet.
May you like
The structure tipped instantly under her weight. A catastrophic cascade of thick, expensive envelopes rained down, burying her bridal gown in a flood of white paper. Heavy, decorative gift boxes tumbled from the upper shelves, bouncing off her shoulders and scattering across the marble.
Victoria collapsed to the floor beneath the scattered wedding cards and boxes, groaning in profound agony, her cheek swelling rapidly. The untouchable Ashford bride had been utterly, physically dismantled in front of the entire syndicate.
