Chapter 3
Dominic remained frozen on his knees for a fraction of a second, his mind struggling to process the sheer, psychopathic audacity of the violence inflicted upon his child. The bright, cinematic lighting of the bedroom acted as an unforgiving spotlight on her bruised, swollen cheek.
"I've got you, my beautiful girl," Dominic whispered, his voice incredibly thick with emotion. He reached out with his large, heavily tattooed hands. The artistic, sharp designs on his fingers contrasted with the gentle, desperate care he used to scoop his daughter into his arms.
Aria immediately threw her tiny arms around his neck. She buried her wet, rosy face into the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt, clinging to him with a white-knuckled, terrified intensity. She refused to let go, her small body shaking violently against his broad, muscular chest.
"It hurts, Daddy," Aria sobbed, her crisp American accent muffled against his tailored vest. "She was so mad at me."
"I know, baby. I know," Dominic murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head. He wrapped one massive arm securely around her waist, supporting her weight entirely.
He slowly rose to his full, imposing height. The warmth of the protective father instantly vanished, replaced by the apex predator of the criminal underworld. His cold, sharp eyes were entirely dead, devoid of any human mercy. He looked at the torn fabric of her late mother's dress, a sacred garment that had been desecrated in his own home.
"We are going downstairs," Dominic stated. His voice was no longer soft. It was a low, vibrating hum that carried a lethal, apocalyptic promise.
He did not call for the medical staff. He did not call for his bodyguards to handle the situation discreetly. The insult had been profound, violent, and deeply personal. The retaliation would be public and absolute.
Dominic carried Aria out of the master suite, his polished leather shoes striking the marble floors with a heavy, deliberate rhythm. He walked down the grand staircase, his face a mask of cold, flawless stone. The estate staff who crossed his path took one look at his eyes and the weeping child in his arms, and they instantly pressed themselves flat against the walls, terrified to even breathe.
He approached the grand double doors leading out to the backyard party. Through the glass, he could see the bright video colors of the garden, the hanging lanterns, the silk flower garlands, and the oblivious, wealthy guests sipping champagne.
"Hold on tight to Daddy," Dominic whispered to Aria, his hand resting protectively against the back of her head.
With a powerful push of his shoulder, Dominic shoved the heavy glass doors open.
He stepped directly out of the estate and into the crowded backyard party. The bright, natural cinematic light washed over him, casting his towering, deeply masculine shadow across the stone terrace. The polite, hushed murmurs of the white American guests instantly transformed into shocked, tense whispers as they noticed the Mafia Boss striding through the crowd with a battered, weeping child in his arms.
"What happened to her face?" a female guest gasped, covering her mouth in horror.
Dominic ignored the whispers. He walked with a slow, predatory grace, the crowd parting for him in absolute, terrified silence. He stopped in the dead center of the garden, entirely exposed in the bright light, demanding the attention of every single person present.
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He gently pulled Aria back just enough so she could look around.
"Aria," Dominic commanded. His voice was low, furious, and echoed with lethal authority. "Tell Daddy who did this."
