Chapter 4
The tension in the brightly lit garden was suffocating. The guests, usually loud and confident, stood completely paralyzed. The vibrant colors of the hanging lanterns and silk flower garlands suddenly felt like a grotesque, mocking backdrop to the dark reality of the Mafia underworld. Dominic stood immovable, his tailored dark suit cutting a sharp silhouette against the pristine lawn. Aria clung to his neck, her tiny face buried in his shoulder, her torn dress fully visible to the horrified crowd.
Before the terrified three-year-old could even attempt to answer her father’s command, the crowd near the tall decorative engagement arch parted.
Vivienne Cross walked toward them.
She moved with an arrogant, elegant sway, her luxurious engagement gown swishing softly against the grass. Her fair, rosy skin was flawless, and the heavy diamond jewelry around her neck and wrists caught the bright, cinematic sunlight. She held a crystal flute of champagne in one hand, completely oblivious to the apocalyptic wrath radiating from her fiancé.
To the absolute shock of everyone watching, Vivienne was actually laughing.
"Oh, Dominic, darling, really," Vivienne called out, her crisp American accent ringing out over the silent garden. She stopped a few feet away from him, rolling her eyes playfully.
She raised her free hand, her manicured finger pointing dismissively at Aria’s torn, vintage dress and the swollen, bruised cheek.
"It was just a joke," Vivienne said, her voice dripping with cruel, mocking superiority. She took a casual sip of her champagne. "She threw a little tantrum because she didn't want to wear the new dress I bought her. She tripped over her own feet trying to run away. You know how toddlers are. Always crying for her dead mother."
The words dropped into the bright, vivid colors of the garden party like a live grenade.
The entire nearby wedding party froze. The collective gasp from the wealthy guests sucked the air out of the space. To invoke the memory of Dominic’s late wife with such venomous disrespect was an act of profound, suicidal madness.
Marcus Cross, standing near the wooden champagne-bar counter, suddenly stiffened. Even he realized his sister had just crossed an unforgivable line. He set his drink down, his fair face paling as he began to slowly edge his way toward the center of the lawn.
Dominic became completely, terrifyingly still. The charming, slightly romantic aesthetic of the loose hair falling over his forehead was starkly juxtaposed against the murderous intent that instantly flooded his cold, sharp eyes. He did not yell. He did not immediately strike her. He was waiting for his daughter.
Aria, hearing Vivienne’s cruel voice, finally stopped crying. The little girl slowly lifted her head from Dominic’s shoulder. Her blue eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, looked past the angry woman’s face and focused directly on her chest.
Aria raised a tiny, trembling finger.
She did not point at Vivienne's face. She pointed directly toward the heavy diamond necklace resting against Vivienne’s fair collarbone. Hanging securely from the center of the expensive necklace was a second, smaller ring—a simple, elegant gold band that did not match the rest of the jewelry.
May you like
"Daddy…" Aria sobbed, her tiny American accent trembling with pure, unadulterated heartbreak. She pointed at the necklace. "Daddy… that was Mommy’s wedding ring."
Dominic’s expression turned completely still. His face became a mask of pure, unyielding stone.
