Chapter 2
A suffocating tension instantly hijacked the bright, vibrant ballroom. The surrounding capos and bodyguards, loyal to the Carbone bloodline, tensed like coiled springs, waiting only for a single gesture from their boss to tear the man apart. Alessia did not immediately scream. She did not lose her composure. The sheer, terrifying discipline that made her the head of the family took absolute control of her physical form.
She dropped to her knees, the luxurious fabric of her formal gown pooling around her on the marble floor. Her fair hands, adorned with the heavy family signet ring, reached out to support her mother.
"Are you injured, Mother?" Alessia asked, her voice dangerously quiet, though her American accent carried a chilling edge.
Miriam winced, rubbing her hip, but she maintained her dignified composure. "I am unhurt, Alessia. Merely surprised."
Alessia gently helped Miriam upright, gesturing for two of her personal bodyguards to step forward and shield the older woman. As Miriam was safely escorted a few steps back, Alessia slowly rose to her full height. The rosy flush of her skin had drained away, leaving her features as cold and pale as carved alabaster. She slowly turned her body to face her husband.
Before Alessia could speak, Evelyn Lawson stepped forward. At sixty-three, Garrett’s mother was draped in an expensive designer gown, heavy pearl jewelry, and glittering rings. Her face, framed by expertly styled hair, mirrored her son’s toxic arrogance. She stepped in front of Garrett, lifting her chin, offering no apologies for the unprovoked assault.
"What is the meaning of this, Evelyn?" Alessia demanded, her voice like cracking ice. "Explain your son's actions before I have my men explain the consequences."
Evelyn let out a sharp, breathless scoff, her lips curling into a vicious sneer. "Don't you take that tone with us, Alessia. We are tired of pretending."
"Pretending?" Alessia repeated softly.
"We are the Lawsons," Evelyn declared loudly, ensuring the surrounding guests heard her. "We brought legitimate political power to this filthy syndicate of yours. We elevated you. Yet you parade this modest, uncultured woman around as if she is royalty."
"She is my mother," Alessia said, taking a slow, measured step forward. "She is the matriarch of the Carbone family."
Evelyn laughed, a bitter, grating sound. She looked at Miriam with undisguised revulsion. “Your mother should learn her place.”
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The words hung in the air, toxic and heavy. The bodyguards in the room visibly shifted their weight, their hands resting on their concealed weapons. Alessia’s eyes flicked from Evelyn to Garrett, analyzing the sheer, suicidal audacity of their behavior. They were not acting out of spontaneous rage; this was a calculated, deliberate public insult. It was a challenge to her throne.
"My mother knows her place," Alessia said, her voice dropping into a deadly, hushed whisper. "It is time you learned yours."
