Chapter 2
The heavy, soundproofed doors of the adjoining council room clicked open without a single sound. The thick hinges, oiled to perfection, allowed for a silent entry.
Vittorio Romano stepped into the bright, cinematic light of the breakfast room. At forty-eight years old, he was a vision of deeply masculine, terrifying power. He was the undisputed head of the Romano organization, a veteran Mafia boss whose very presence commanded absolute obedience. He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly. His dress shirt was crisp, a heavy family signet ring rested on his finger, and an expensive wristwatch peeked out from his cuff. His polished leather shoes made no sound on the thick rugs. He was handsome as a movie star, but his cold, piercing eyes held a lethal, uncompromising darkness.
Vittorio froze in his tracks.
The scene before him defied comprehension. His three-year-old daughter, his own flesh and blood, was kneeling on a pet feeding mat in torn, filthy rags. Above her stood the woman he was supposed to marry, pointing a manicured finger at a dog bowl filled with slop.
"I am not going to ask you again, you little brat," Bianca snapped, completely unaware of the apex predator standing just fifteen feet behind her. "Get your face in the bowl."
"I don't want to!" Lucy sobbed, curling into a tight, defensive ball on the floor.
Bianca let out a loud, frustrated sigh. She placed her hands on her hips, her engagement ring catching the bright morning sun.
"If she behaves like an animal, she eats like one," Bianca mocked, looking over her shoulder to share a vicious grin with her brother, Marcus.
Vittorio did not yell. He did not curse. The sheer, apocalyptic rage that flooded his veins manifested in a terrifying, absolute stillness. He closed the distance across the room in three massive, predatory strides.
Before Bianca could even turn her head back toward the child, Vittorio’s large hands reached down. He bypassed the screaming woman entirely, his powerful arms scooping Lucy gently off the filthy feeding mat.
He lifted his daughter safely against his broad, suited chest, pulling her entirely away from the dog bowl.
"Daddy!" Lucy shrieked, instantly wrapping her small, trembling arms tightly around his neck. She buried her dirty, tear-stained face into his expensive dress shirt, sobbing uncontrollably.
Bianca spun around, her elegant morning outfit swishing around her legs. The color drained entirely from her fair, rosy face. The arrogant, mocking smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated horror.
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"Vittorio!" Bianca gasped, her American accent pitching into a shrill, breathless squeak. "I... you weren't supposed to be out of your meeting for another hour."
Vittorio did not look at her. He held his daughter tightly, his large hand gently stroking the back of her head, feeling the coarse, filthy fabric she had been forced to wear. His sharply defined jawline locked into stone as he prepared to dismantle everyone in the room.
