Chapter 4
The dining gallery was plunged into absolute, ringing silence. Marcus lay groaning beneath the tilted mahogany frame of the grandfather clock, blood bubbling over his split lip, his fine suit dusted with white plaster and splinters of century-old brass. None of his loyal capos rose to lift the timber off his chest.
Roman straightened his jacket, brushing a single fleck of plaster from his lapel. His knuckles were bruised, the skin over his tattooed right hand split and leaking a clean line of dark red, but his breath was entirely even.
Suddenly, silk rustled violently at the head of the table.
Katherine had seized the moment. Taking advantage of the chaos, the sixty-one-year-old matriarch lunged forward across the mahogany runner, her manicured fingers clawing straight for the stem of the crystal wineglass, desperate to shatter it against the marble floor before tests could be run.
"Stop her," Roman didn't even shout the order.
Salvatore was already moving. With the speed of an experienced operator, the security chief stepped into her path, his broad forearm planting firmly against the tabletop, blocking Katherine’s reach inches from the crystal.
"Move, you dog!" Katherine hissed, her face contorting into an ugly, feral mask of entitlement.
Blocked from the glass, Katherine spun around, her sapphire gown whipping around her ankles, and brought her open palm across Roman’s cheek with a stinging, resonant slap.
Roman’s head turned two inches from the blow, his dark eyes darkening further until they resembled bottomless black holes.
Katherine didn't hesitate. Driven by the primal realization that her life was hanging by a thread, she twisted away from Salvatore and lunged desperately with both hands for the heavy crystal decanter resting beside Roman’s silver charger.
Roman’s left hand struck like an iron clamp.
His fingers closed around her right wrist with crushing, hydraulic force. Bone ground audibly against bone beneath his grip, the heavy gold signet ring biting into the fragile tendons of her arm. Katherine let out a high-pitched, strangled shriek of pain as her forward momentum was halted mid-air.
Roman looked at her, his expression devoid of all human mercy.
With his right hand, Roman delivered a thunderous, open-handed slap across her powdered face.
The blow detached her diamond earring, sending the cluster of pearls skittering across the tablecloth. The force snapped Katherine’s head sideways, bloodying her nose and tearing the aristocratic pride from her features in an instant.
Before she could fall to the runner, Roman pulled her forward by her trapped wrist, loaded his right leg, and drove a forceful front kick straight into her midsection.
The heel of his polished oxford struck her solar plexus with dull, heavy finality.
The impact launched Katherine backward through the air. Her heels caught the carpet edge, and she rocketed violently into the freestanding silver serving-board display standing against the gallery's side wall.
The slender wrought-iron frame collapsed under her weight.
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With a deafening racket of bouncing metal, half a dozen heavy silver serving boards tumbled from their slots, clattering across her shoulders and chest. A lightweight silver tray flipped into the air, showering twenty pristine, folded linen napkins across the floor like an explosion of white doves.
The serving-board rack tilted, its iron legs buckling, and fell flat across Katherine’s legs, pinning the matriarch into the pile of crushed silver and linen, where she lay gasping for air like a fish thrown onto dry gravel.
