Chapter 2
The harsh, cruel words hung in the air for only a fraction of a second before the atmosphere in the grand gallery completely shifted.
Luciano Venturi had been standing a few yards away, deep in a quiet conversation with two senior capos regarding the eastern shipping lanes. At forty-nine years old, the head of the Venturi syndicate possessed a powerful, deeply masculine, and terrifyingly intimidating presence. He was handsome like a classic movie star, his thick dark hair slicked back with silver at his temples. His angular face, high-bridged nose, and sharply defined jawline were shadowed by a short, perfectly trimmed beard. He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly, a heavy family signet ring, and polished leather shoes.
He heard the slap. He heard the crying.
Luciano’s conversation ceased immediately. The cold, sharp, intimidating eyes of the Mafia boss locked onto the scene by the dinner table. He moved with a sudden, explosive speed that completely defied his relaxed posture, crossing the distance in three massive strides.
He didn't speak to Bernadette. He didn't look at Felix. Luciano immediately dropped to one knee, wrapping his large, powerful hands around his son and lifting Theo safely to his feet. He pulled the sobbing four-year-old against his tailored vest, shielding the boy entirely from his cousin's venomous gaze.
"Daddy…" Theo cried, burying his wet, rosy face into his father’s chest. He turned his head slightly, lifting a small, trembling finger to point directly at the wooden toy now gripped tightly in Felix’s hands. "Daddy… that’s my train. I brought it from home."
Luciano’s breathing slowed. The terrifying, cold calculation of a veteran Don settled over his handsome features. He gently brushed a tear from Theo’s cheek, noting the angry red mark blooming across his son's fair skin.
He slowly stood up to his full, towering height, keeping Theo safely tucked behind his leg. He extended his right hand toward his seven-year-old nephew, palm up.
"Give it to me, Felix," Luciano commanded quietly. His deep, slightly raspy American accent was kept at a low, measured volume, yet it resonated with an absolute authority that made the surrounding capos stiffen in apprehension.
Felix hesitated, his smug expression faltering as he looked up at the terrifying Mafia boss. He glanced at his mother for protection.
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"Don't give him anything, Felix," Bernadette snapped, lifting her chin defensively. "It is just a cheap wooden toy. Theo has a room full of expensive garbage. My son wants to play with it, and he is going to."
Luciano did not raise his voice. He did not argue. He simply stepped forward, entirely ignoring Bernadette, and calmly took the wooden locomotive directly out of Felix’s hands.
