Chapter 8
The bright video colors of the garden—the crushed silk flowers, the emerald grass, the shattered crystal—framed the total, devastating humiliation of Vivienne Cross. Dominic slowly walked back over to where she knelt in the ruins of the engagement arch.
Vivienne stared up at him, her chest heaving, the reality of her total, irreversible ruin crashing down upon her. She had lost her husband, her power, and very likely the safety of her entire family.
Dominic crouched down slowly, his tailored dark suit trousers pulling taut. He balanced effortlessly on the balls of his polished leather shoes, placing his handsome, angular face just inches from her terrified, bruised features.
"Give me your hand," Dominic ordered. His voice was a low, terrifying whisper, the controlled pauses emphasizing the absolute danger of his command.
"No, Dominic, please," Vivienne sobbed, pulling her hands to her chest. "It’s my engagement ring. You gave it to me."
"Give me... your hand," Dominic repeated, the icy lethality in his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Trembling violently, Vivienne slowly extended her left hand. The massive diamond engagement ring sparkled fiercely in the bright cinematic light, a symbol of the alliance she had just single-handedly destroyed.
Dominic took her hand in his. His grip was firm, unyielding, but he did not crush her fingers as she had feared. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he pulled the heavy diamond engagement ring entirely off her finger.
Vivienne let out a pathetic, heartbroken whimper as the ring slid free.
Dominic stood back up to his full, imposing height. He held the diamond ring between his tattooed thumb and forefinger, examining it for a fraction of a second in the natural sunlight. He looked down at the woman cowering at his feet, his cold, sharp eyes completely devoid of any human empathy.
"You called... hurting my daughter... a joke," Dominic stated.
The deep, measured cadence of his voice echoed clearly across the silent garden, reaching the ears of every terrified guest and loyal capo. It was a formal decree of war.
"So... is this wedding," Dominic concluded, his voice dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice.
Without breaking eye contact with her, Dominic casually opened his fingers. He dropped Vivienne’s massive diamond engagement ring directly into the tangled mess of the collapsed wooden decorations and crushed silk flowers at her feet.
The heavy ring hit the dirt with a dull, final thud.
Vivienne went completely pale. The fair, rosy flush of her skin was entirely replaced by a sickly, translucent white. She collapsed forward onto her hands, weeping hysterically into the grass, entirely broken.
Dominic turned his back on her, a profound gesture of ultimate disrespect. He looked at his gathered capos, men who were hardened by years of street violence, yet who stood in absolute awe of the ruthless efficiency with which their Boss had just dismantled the Cross family leadership.
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"Lock down the estate," Dominic commanded his men, his American accent sharp and unyielding. "Disarm the Cross family guards. If they resist, execute them. No one from their bloodline leaves this property until I say so."
"Yes, Boss," the capos responded in unison, raising their radios to bark orders. The sound of weapons being drawn and tactical movements echoed through the garden, instantly transforming the luxury gala into a heavily fortified war zone. The alliance was dead, and Dominic Bellucci was preparing to purge the city.
