Chapter 4
The sheer brightness of the natural sunlight streaming through the museum skylights felt entirely disconnected from the dark, suffocating tension building between the two men. Marcus, realizing he had crossed the point of no return, decided to solidify his violent rebellion in front of the gathered capos. He squared his shoulders, shifting his weight onto his polished leather shoes.
Marcus threw the first punch. He aimed a heavy, looping right hook directly at Luciano’s jaw, putting all his weight behind the strike, intending to knock the veteran Don to the carpet.
He severely underestimated the man who had built the syndicate.
Luciano did not flinch. Moving with a fluid, terrifying grace that defied his age, he simply slipped his head to the side. Marcus’s fist sailed harmlessly past his cheek, entirely missing its target. The missed punch threw Marcus’s center of gravity wildly forward, completely exposing his unguarded face.
Before Marcus could even blink, Luciano planted his foot, twisted his hips, and drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch directly across Marcus’s face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage shattered the quiet of the gallery. The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted Marcus off his feet. His eyes rolled back instantly, blood spraying from his shattered nose.
Marcus spun violently backward, completely out of control. His arms flailed as he flew across the plush carpet, crashing directly into the enormous, waist-high model-railway exhibit.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy wooden base buckled under his weight. Marcus’s body crashed brutally through the lightweight scenery section of the display.
The destruction was absolute. Miniature station roofs popped loose and flew into the air. Dozens of meticulously crafted foam trees exploded across the floor in a shower of green debris. Tiny, hand-painted buildings tumbled completely from their foundations, shattering against the marble baseboards. Entire sections of intricate metal track sprang violently upward, warping under the impact. Miniature model train cars scattered chaotically across the carpet, rolling to a stop near the terrified guests.
Marcus collapsed entirely through the center of the ruined landscape, buried beneath the splintered wood and broken tracks. He hit the ground with a heavy, wet thud and did not move again.
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There was no dialogue. The entire grand gallery descended into a heavy, ringing silence. The clinking of glasses, the polite conversation—it was all completely severed.
Luciano slowly lowered his fist. He rolled his broad shoulders beneath his dark suit, his breathing completely even, as if he had merely swatted a fly. He did not look at the ruined man in the exhibit. His cold, sharp eyes slowly turned back toward Bernadette.
