Chapter 1
The dining room of the Bellini estate was awash in brilliant, cinematic light. There were no warm filters, no artificial yellow tints casting shadows over the gathering. Crisp, natural sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the pristine white walls and the vibrant, rich colors of the lavish feast spread across the long mahogany table. Around this table sat the inner circle of the Bellini syndicate, a collection of white American adults draped in the finest tailored suits and elegant formal wear. Their fair, rosy skin practically glowed in the pristine lighting, presenting a picture of absolute, untouchable aristocratic perfection.
At the head of the table sat Matteo Bellini. At fifty-four, he was a man who radiated a deeply masculine, terrifying power. He possessed a rugged, movie-star handsome face—angular, with a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline, and a short, meticulously trimmed full beard. His thick, slightly wavy dark hair was slicked back naturally, with a few stray locks falling effortlessly over his forehead, creating a deceptive, romantic charm that entirely masked the apex predator beneath. He wore a dark, flawlessly tailored three-piece suit, the crisp white dress shirt beneath it highlighting the heavy gold family signet ring on his finger and the expensive, gleaming wristwatch on his arm.
"The northern territories are stabilizing," Dominic Bellini remarked, slicing into his steak with practiced ease. At forty-two, Matteo’s younger cousin and senior capo was equally well-dressed, his tailored suit and polished leather shoes reflecting his high status within the family. "We should expect a thirty percent increase in gross revenue by the end of the quarter, Matteo. The transition has been seamless."
"Transitions are rarely seamless, Dominic," Matteo replied. His deep, slightly raspy voice carried effortlessly across the room. He spoke slowly, utilizing controlled, deliberate pauses between his words. Even at a low volume, his tone was measured, cold, and immensely dangerous. "They only appear that way when someone is hiding the fractures."
"There are no fractures here, son," Helena Bellini interjected smoothly. The sixty-five-year-old matriarch sat to Matteo’s right. She wore an elegant, deeply colored formal outfit, her neck and wrists adorned with heavy, sparkling jewelry that caught the bright sunlight. Her fair face was set in a mask of grandmotherly warmth. "The family is perfectly united. We have never been stronger."
Three-year-old Ava Bellini sat beside her grandmother, picking at a plate of fresh fruit. She wore an elegant, pastel child’s dress, a soft cardigan, and tiny flats. Her bright, innocent eyes took in the towering adults around her.
Ava set her fork down. She looked directly across the wide dinner table at Dominic, her rosy cheeks lifting in a sweet, entirely innocent smile.
"Uncle Dominic?" Ava asked, her small, clear voice cutting through the sophisticated hum of the dining room.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Dominic smiled back, taking a sip of his wine.
"Grandma says I have to call you 'Daddy' when you’re gone," Ava said innocently, her blue eyes shifting briefly to her father.
The entire room seemed to stop breathing.
May you like
Helena’s mask of grandmotherly warmth shattered in a microsecond. Her fair skin flushed a violent crimson. Without a single warning, she lunged sideways, grabbed Ava’s small shoulder with a claw-like grip, and violently slapped the three-year-old girl across the face.
"Shut your mouth!" Helena hissed viciously, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "She’s just acting! Do you believe a child’s words?"
