Bernadette Venturi violently struck little Theo’s hand away and slapped the boy across the face as he reached toward a small wooden locomotive

The cinematic, bright sunlight continued to pour through the museum skylights, completely indifferent to the absolute destruction that had just occurred. Luciano slowly lowered his hand. He adjusted the cuffs of his crisp dress shirt, the heavy family signet ring catching the light. He stood in the center of the wreckage, radiating an intimidating, terrifying authority.

He turned his back on the groaning woman buried beneath the mail sacks and knelt slowly onto the plush carpet.

Theo peeked out from behind his father’s legs, his blue eyes wide, still sniffing softly. Luciano offered a gentle, reassuring smile that entirely erased the violent Mafia boss he had been seconds prior. He reached out and placed the small, beautifully carved wooden locomotive firmly back into Theo’s hands.

"This is yours, Theo," Luciano whispered, his deep, raspy voice incredibly soft. "No one will ever take it from you again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," Theo nodded, his tiny hands gripping the toy tightly.

"Go to Maria," Luciano instructed, gesturing to the pale, trembling nanny standing near the grand entrance. "Daddy will be right there."

Theo scampered away, safely removed from the epicenter of the violence. Luciano watched him go until the boy was securely behind the heavy wooden doors.

Once his son was safe, Luciano slowly rose to his full, towering height. The tender father vanished in a microsecond, replaced entirely by the cold, calculating executioner. He slowly turned his head, his sharp eyes sweeping over the silent, terrified family members, capos, and guests who had witnessed the treason.

He walked slowly toward the ruined timetable board. Bernadette was pushing herself up onto her elbows, spitting a drop of blood onto the floor. She looked up at Luciano, her face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fear.

"Luciano, please," Bernadette choked out, her American accent frantic and desperate. She looked at her unconscious husband in the ruined train exhibit. "It was Marcus! He planned the whole thing! He told me the capos were backing him! I didn't want to hurt Theo, I swear to God!"

Luciano stopped a few feet away from her. He looked from the bleeding woman to the unconscious man, and then to the silent capos who were supposedly backing this pathetic coup.

"You slapped my son because you believed you were already wearing the crown," Luciano said softly. He spoke with controlled, terrifying pauses, keeping his volume dead calm. Every sentence sounded measured, cold, and unspeakably dangerous.