Chapter 3
The ambient chatter of the birthday party died almost instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence. The guests, all hardened associates and family members of the Bellacorte syndicate, recognized the shift in the atmosphere. The bright, elegant warmth of the room suddenly felt like the interior of a loaded gun chamber.
Mark’s hand hovered in the air, trembling slightly under the crushing weight of his father’s stare. "Dad, come on. Look at her clothes. She’s covered in dirt. She’s going to ruin your suit. Let me just take her back to the servant’s quarters where she belongs."
"You locked my granddaughter outside in a blizzard without shoes," Richard stated. His volume was kept terrifyingly low, his words measured and dripping with a cold, absolute danger. "You call that a punishment?"
"She needs discipline!" Mark argued, his voice rising defensively as he felt the eyes of the capos on his back. Desperation made him reckless. He stepped closer, abandoning all sense of self-preservation, and aggressively grabbed Richard’s shoulder. "Give her to me, Dad. You're making a scene in front of the entire family."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Richard violently tore his shoulder away from Mark’s grasp. With his left arm securing Lily tightly against his chest, Richard pivoted his hips and drove his right fist forward in a blinding, explosive arc.
The punch connected flush across Mark’s jawline with the sickening crack of fracturing bone.
The sheer force of the blow lifted the thirty-eight-year-old man completely off his feet. Mark spun violently backward through the air, his arms flailing helplessly. He crashed dead-center into the tall, elaborate coat-and-scarf display positioned near the entryway.
The heavy wooden frame snapped sideways with a deafening crack. High-end winter coats and mink jackets slid frantically from their hangers. Designer scarf boxes burst open on impact, launching silk across the room. Several expensive, dark-handled umbrellas scattered violently across the polished marble floor. Mark disappeared completely beneath the collapsing display as the heavy upper mahogany rack crashed down around him, burying him in a tangled pile of wood and luxury fabrics.
The entire lounge went dead silent. No one moved. The bodyguards standing along the perimeter shifted their weight, their hands resting near their holsters, waiting for a command that had not yet been given.
May you like
From the safety of Richard’s arms, Lily buried her face deeper into his neck, whimpering softly at the loud noise. Richard gently stroked the back of her head, his eyes fixed on the wreckage where his son lay groaning.
"If you ever touch me again," Richard whispered to the pile of coats, "I will ensure you never have hands to reach with."
