Chapter 5
The bright, natural sunlight of the breakfast room offered no warmth to the terrified woman. Bianca’s chest heaved as panic completely overrode her rational thought. She looked at Vittorio, a man radiating an aura of pure, unyielding death, and realized she was entirely trapped.
Driven by a desperate, hysterical instinct, Bianca’s eyes darted toward the only leverage left in the room.
Lucy was standing beside Emma, crying softly, her tiny hands clutching the housekeeper's apron.
"Lucy, come here!" Bianca shrieked, her American accent pitching into a shrill, manic octave.
Bianca lunged forward, her high heels clicking erratically on the floor. She reached her manicured hands out, intending to grab the three-year-old girl and use her as a physical shield against the Mafia Boss.
"Don't you touch her!" Emma yelled, trying to pull the child back.
Vittorio intercepted the bride-to-be with effortless, terrifying dominance.
As Bianca’s hand extended toward his daughter, Vittorio stepped forward. He violently knocked her hand away, his forearm striking her wrist with enough force to leave an immediate, dark bruise on her fair skin.
Before Bianca could even register the pain or utter a scream, Vittorio pulled his hand back and delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap directly across her face.
The sound of the impact cracked through the room like thunder.
The immense physical force of the slap sent Bianca spinning violently backward. She lost her footing completely, her elegant designer outfit twisting around her as she was thrown through the air.
She crashed backward, landing heavily onto the luxurious leather ottoman.
The momentum of her fall did not stop there. The ottoman slid rapidly across the polished floor under her weight. It slammed violently into the two low side tables positioned nearby.
Both tables overturned with a loud, destructive crash. Expensive decorative trays flew into the air, scattering crystal glasses and silver pitchers across the carpet. Plush, decorative cushions tumbled everywhere, blanketing the floor in a chaotic mess of velvet and silk.
Bianca collapsed among the wreckage, her legs tangled in her designer skirt. She gasped for air, holding her rapidly swelling cheek, staring up at the ceiling in complete, paralyzed shock.
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Once again, no dialogue was spoken. The violence had been executed with clinical, terrifying precision.
Vittorio stood in the center of the destruction. His angular face and sharply defined jawline looked as though they were carved from granite. He slowly adjusted the heavy family signet ring on his finger, his cold, piercing eyes locked onto the woman lying broken among the overturned tables. He had systematically dismantled the threat to his bloodline in less than fifteen seconds.
