Chapter 6
The catastrophic impact of Vivienne’s body against the towering engagement arch was deafening. The bright, cinematic lighting captured every brutal detail in high-definition clarity. The heavy wooden structure, adorned with expensive hanging lanterns and thick silk flower garlands, buckled instantly under the massive kinetic force of the blow.
One of the thick wooden supports split loose with a loud, violent crack, the timber snapping completely in half.
The entire archway destabilized. Hundreds of delicate silk flowers and heavy glass hanging lanterns collapsed simultaneously, raining down heavily over Vivienne’s shoulders and head. Vibrant, brightly colored garlands ripped free from their moorings, whipping wildly across the pristine green lawn. The entire massive decorative arch folded sideways, groaning loudly before crashing down onto the grass, completely burying the disgraced fiancée beneath it.
Vivienne collapsed onto the ground beneath the twisted wood and tangled silk, groaning in profound agony, her cheek swelling rapidly from the devastating strike. The untouchable Cross bride had been utterly, physically dismantled in front of the entire syndicate.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced every single person in the garden. The wealthy American guests were completely paralyzed, pressing themselves back against the perimeter walls, terrified to even breathe.
Dominic stood in the center of the lawn, his chest rising and falling with slow, perfectly controlled breaths. He slowly lowered his tattooed hand, flexing his fingers. His dark three-piece suit was perfectly intact. He did not even glance at the weeping woman buried in the flowers.
"You son of a bitch!" a loud, furious voice roared from across the garden.
Marcus Cross, Vivienne’s forty-year-old older brother, had finally snapped. Blinded by the public humiliation of his sister and his family's name, the allied Mafia-family associate completely abandoned all strategic sense.
Marcus charged across the bright, sunlit lawn. He wore an expensive tailored suit, his polished leather shoes tearing up the grass as he sprinted. His fair, rosy face was flushed a dark, angry purple. He raised his heavy right fist, aiming a desperate, wild haymaker directly at the back of Dominic’s head, fully intending to knock the Mafia Boss unconscious.
"Boss, behind you!" Vincent yelled from the sidelines, holding little Aria securely.
Dominic did not panic. He did not even fully turn his body.
With the terrifying, ingrained reflexes of a man who had survived a dozen cartel wars, Dominic merely shifted his weight. He pivoted smoothly on his polished shoes, slipping his head effortlessly to the outside. Marcus’s heavy fist sailed through empty air, the sheer momentum pulling the older brother completely off-balance and exposing his entire ribcage.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic planted his feet firmly into the earth. Utilizing the immense, deeply masculine power of his core, he drove one brutal, explosive counterpunch straight into Marcus’s upper body.
The heavy gold family signet ring on Dominic’s hand connected with Marcus’s chest with a sickening, resounding impact.
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The kinetic force of the blow was absolute. Marcus’s eyes widened in sheer, breathless shock as the air detonated from his lungs. The impact lifted him entirely off his feet, sending him spinning violently backward across the garden.
He hurtled backward, completely out of control, flying directly toward the massive, wooden champagne-bar counter set up near the edge of the terrace.
