Chapter 2
Matteo Savelli was a man who commanded the very air around him. At forty-five, he was undeniably handsome—masculine and distinctly Mafia Boss-like, resembling a classic movie star. His thick, slightly wavy dark hair was naturally slicked back, though a few loose strands fell over his forehead, lending him a charming, almost romantic look that sharply contrasted with his lethal nature. His angular face featured a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline, and extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. His fair, rosy skin was flawless, contrasting sharply with the tailored dark three-piece suit he wore. Refined, artistic tattoos decorated his hands and fingers, utilizing negative space so perfectly they looked like sharp, elegant weapons rather than dense ink.
Without a single word, Matteo rushed forward. His polished leather shoes made no sound against the marble.
"Mr. Savelli!" June gasped, stepping aside as he approached.
Matteo grabbed the heavy brass railing of the trolley, holding it perfectly still with effortless strength. He reached down and gently lifted his three-year-old daughter into his arms. Ava buried her wet, rosy face into the lapel of his expensive suit, sobbing quietly. Matteo held her securely, his large, tattooed hand stroking her back.
Celeste’s fair skin turned a deep, embarrassed crimson. Furious that her authority had been entirely undermined in front of the arriving guests spilling out of the ballroom, she snatched a heavy metal luggage tag from one of the stacked leather cases.
With a frustrated cry, Celeste threw the metal tag directly at his chest. It struck the fine fabric of his vest and clattered loudly onto the marble floor.
"You think you can just walk in here and undermine me?" Celeste demanded, her American accent sharp and hysterical.
Matteo did not react to the projectile. He kept his daughter safe against his shoulder. He slowly turned his head to look at his fiancée. His expression was completely blank, his sharp eyes colder than winter ice.
Enraged by his silence, Celeste stepped forward, raising her hand high. She delivered a ringing, violent slap across Matteo’s face. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the perfectly quiet, music-less foyer. June gasped, covering her mouth in horror, while the white American adults attending the memorial reception froze in their tracks.
"You don't know who walks your halls," Celeste mocked, her voice dripping with venomous superiority. "You think you control this family? You control nothing, Matteo."
Matteo did not flinch. His head barely moved from the impact of her hand. The silence in the bright, cinematic light of the foyer became suffocating. He slowly turned his face back toward her, his high-bridged nose and angular jaw looking like they were carved from marble.
"You struck me," Matteo said. He spoke slowly, with deliberate, controlled pauses between his words. He kept his volume incredibly low, a dangerous, raspy whisper that forced everyone in the room to lean in. "In front of my child."
"Someone has to discipline her!" Celeste shot back, though a flicker of genuine fear finally crossed her eyes. "She is hiding things! She is a liar, just like her mother was!"
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"My daughter. Does not lie," Matteo replied, his words measured, cold, and dripping with an unspoken promise of violence. "What were you trying to take from her?"
Before Celeste could formulate a lie, the small child in his arms shifted.
