Chapter 2
The heavy, soundproof oak door of the portrait studio clicked open, but the sound was entirely masked by Oliver’s terrified crying. Viviana Hale stepped over the threshold. At twenty-nine, the Head of the Hale family possessed a terrifying, regal beauty. She wore a perfectly tailored dark pantsuit and a pristine silk blouse, her polished leather shoes moving soundlessly across the room. Her fair, rosy skin betrayed no emotion, but her dark eyes were immediately drawn to the scene at the easel.
"Stop this," Viviana said.
Her voice was incredibly low, perfectly controlled, yet it carried an absolute, lethal authority that seemed to freeze the oxygen in the room. Her American accent was sharp and measured.
Damon flinched, his shoulders stiffening as he instinctively halted the brush. Rosalind’s smug smile vanished, replaced by a flash of nervous apprehension as she clutched the dinner plate tighter.
Viviana did not wait for a response. She crossed the room in three long, deliberate strides. Her family signet ring and heavy diamond wedding band flashed in the natural light as she reached out. She did not strike her husband; she simply seized his wrist with a grip honed by years of commanding violent men. With a sharp, authoritative twist, Viviana pulled Damon’s hand violently away from their child.
"Let go of him," Viviana demanded, her voice barely a whisper, yet vibrating with pure menace.
She immediately reached down and took the heavy, paint-soaked brush from Oliver’s trembling, paint-stained fingers. She set it down in the shallow metal paint tray resting on the nearby worktable. With a gentleness that completely contradicted her Mafia persona, Viviana placed her hands under Oliver’s arms and lifted her son entirely away from the canvas.
Oliver clung to his mother’s tailored jacket, his small body shaking with residual terror. He looked between his mother’s calm face and the ruined, smeared portrait on the easel. The boy’s fair cheeks were flushed with a deep, embarrassed red.
"Mommy…" Oliver cried, his voice breaking as he buried his face against her shoulder, sobbing into the silk of her blouse. “I didn’t want to.”
May you like
"I know, my sweet boy," Viviana murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I know you didn't. You did nothing wrong."
Viviana slowly lifted her gaze. The maternal warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of the Hale family boss. She looked at Damon, who was rubbing his wrist, and then at Rosalind, who stood frozen with the dinner plate. The brilliant, cinematic light of the studio set the stage for an inevitable reckoning.
