Chapter 7
The bright, natural sunlight seemed to strobe as Marcus Cross flew backward through the air. He crashed into the heavy wooden champagne-bar counter with the devastating force of a speeding vehicle.
The impact was thunderous. The entire heavy wooden counter jolted violently backward upon collision. The sheer kinetic energy transferred directly into the catering display. Hundreds of empty crystal champagne glasses leaped simultaneously from their silver trays, shattering explosively into the air like a deadly, glittering fountain.
Massive metal ice buckets, filled to the brim, tumbled wildly across the pristine green lawn, spilling freezing water and crushed ice everywhere. Stacks of crisp white cocktail napkins exploded into the air, fluttering down through the bright, cinematic light like a bizarre snowstorm.
The structural integrity of the bar failed completely. The decorative front panel of the counter broke entirely loose with a deafening splintering of wood. Marcus crashed straight through the broken panel, his body twisting as he collapsed heavily onto the grass behind the ruined bar, entirely buried in shattered crystal, ice, and broken timber.
He lay completely incapacitated, groaning weakly, his expensive tailored suit ruined and soaked with melting ice, blood trickling from his split lip.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence once again silenced the crowd. To witness the head of the Bellucci family physically destroy the entire Cross family leadership in a matter of seconds was a paradigm-shifting event.
Dominic stood in the center of the wreckage, an immovable monument of wrath. The loose strands of his wavy hair shifted slightly in the breeze. His cold, intimidating eyes swept across the frozen, terrified guests. No one dared to move. No one dared to speak.
He slowly turned his back on the ruined champagne bar and walked deliberately toward the collapsed engagement arch.
Vivienne was struggling to push herself up onto her elbows. Her luxurious engagement gown was torn and stained with grass, her flawless makeup completely ruined by her tears and the rapidly swelling, dark purple bruise covering the left side of her face. She looked up as Dominic’s towering, deeply masculine shadow fell over her, blocking out the bright cinematic sunlight.
"Dominic... please," Vivienne gasped, her American accent weak and trembling. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees, desperately trying to untangle herself from the silk flower garlands. "I'm sorry. I'll give it back. I'll give the ring back."
Dominic did not respond to her pathetic pleas. He reached down with his heavily tattooed hand. He didn't offer to help her up. Instead, he grabbed the delicate gold chain resting against her collarbone.
With a sharp, violent jerk, Dominic snapped the necklace completely in half.
He tore his late wife’s wedding ring free from the broken chain. He held the simple gold band in the palm of his hand, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of dirt from the metal. He turned around and walked back toward his lead bodyguard, Vincent.
He gently took Aria from the bodyguard’s arms, holding her securely against his chest. He took her small, uninjured hand and placed the gold wedding ring gently into her tiny palm, closing her small fingers safely around it.
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"Keep it safe, my angel," Dominic whispered warmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
He handed Aria back to Vincent, his paternal warmth vanishing in an instant as he turned back to face the woman sobbing in the dirt. The reckoning was not yet complete.
