Chapter 4
Nolan Vale mistook Galen’s absolute stillness for hesitation. Believing that the Moretti syndicate desperately needed the political merger with the Vale family, Nolan decided to assert his dominance in front of the gathered capos and wedding staff.
"You heard her, Galen," Nolan sneered, taking a step forward to close the distance. "Tell the kid to get out of the room so we can finish the rehearsal."
"Do not speak to me," Galen commanded softly, his deep voice barely a whisper.
Nolan’s fair face flushed a dark, angry red. "You think you can talk to me like one of your street soldiers? I'm going to be your brother-in-law!"
With a sudden, violent motion, Nolan shoved Galen hard in the chest.
Galen absorbed the impact effortlessly, his polished leather shoes gripping the hardwood floor. He did not even stumble.
Enraged by his failure to move the larger man, Nolan pulled his right arm back and swung a heavy, looping punch aimed directly at Galen’s jaw.
It was a fatal miscalculation.
Galen moved with a fluid, terrifying grace that completely defied his forty-nine years. He simply tilted his head, slipping perfectly outside the punch. Nolan’s fist sailed harmlessly through the empty air, throwing the younger man’s center of gravity wildly off balance.
In the exact same fraction of a second, Galen planted his lead foot, twisted his hips, and drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch directly across Nolan’s face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage shattered the quiet of the ballroom. The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted Nolan entirely off his feet. His eyes rolled back into his head before he even began to fall.
Nolan spun violently backward, completely out of control. His arms flailed through the air as he rocketed toward the edge of the room.
He crashed directly into the string-quartet setup.
The destruction was catastrophic. Heavy metal music stands collapsed in a rapid, clattering sequence. Hundreds of pages of classical sheet music exploded through the air, fluttering like a chaotic snowstorm in the bright cinematic light. Two empty, velvet-lined violin instrument cases flipped violently open as Nolan’s body slammed into the wooden chairs.
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Nolan crashed heavily across the scattered stands and broken chairs, his expensive tailored suit tangling in the debris. He hit the floor with a wet, heavy thud and did not move again.
There was no dialogue. The room descended into a ringing, absolute silence, save for the soft fluttering of sheet music settling over the unconscious man’s bleeding face. Galen slowly lowered his fist, his breathing completely even.
