Chapter 2
The heavy, sickening thud of Celeste’s body hitting the carpeted stairs echoed through the cavernous foyer. Because there was absolutely no background music playing at the reception, the sound was unnervingly loud, a brutal interruption to the polite, muffled conversations drifting from the other rooms. Celeste finally came to a stop near the bottom of the staircase, gasping for air, her elegant maternity dress tangled around her legs. Her fair, rosy face was contorted in sheer agony and blinding panic as her hands immediately flew to shield her seven-month pregnant belly.
At that exact, terrifying moment, the heavy oak doors of the adjoining Mafia council room swung open.
Luciano Ferraro stepped out into the bright, cinematic light of the foyer. At thirty years old, he was the undisputed head of the Ferraro organization. He was powerful, deeply masculine, and intimidating in a way that commanded absolute silence. He was as handsome as a classic movie star, his thick, slightly wavy hair naturally slicked back with a few loose strands falling perfectly over his forehead, giving him a charming, romantic look that sharply contrasted his lethal nature. His angular face featured a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline, and extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. His cold, sharp, intimidating eyes immediately swept the room.
He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit, his shirt unbuttoned just enough at the chest to reveal the edges of artistic tattoos. The ink crept up his neck and decorated his arms, hands, and fingers with refined, sharp designs. The negative space was perfectly balanced, creating an attractive, slightly dangerous look without covering his entire neck.
Luciano stopped dead in his tracks. His piercing eyes locked onto the bottom of the staircase.
He saw Celeste crumpled on the carpet.
"Celeste!" Luciano roared, the deep, raspy authority of his voice shattering the quiet of the foyer.
He moved with blinding, explosive speed. His polished leather shoes scrambled across the marble floor as he rushed toward the staircase. He dropped to his knees beside her, ignoring the crease in his expensive trousers. His large, tattooed hands hovered over her, desperate to help but terrified of causing further injury. He immediately shifted his broad, masculine shoulders, creating a physical shield over her pregnant belly to block anyone else from approaching.
"I've got you. I'm right here," Luciano murmured. He spoke slowly, with controlled pauses between words, intentionally keeping his volume low to calm her, though his voice vibrated with a lethal, barely contained panic. "Where does it hurt? Tell me."
Celeste was shaking violently, tears streaming down her fair, rosy cheeks. She reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed tightly onto the sleeve of his tailored dark suit, her knuckles turning white.
"Luciano…" Celeste cried, her American accent hitching with a terrifying sob. She looked up toward the top of the landing. "He pushed me."
Luciano froze. The absolute stillness of his body was more terrifying than any shout. His cold, sharp eyes slowly tracked upward, following her gaze to the top of the wide, carpeted staircase. The cinematic light cast a long, dramatic shadow over the landing.
"Who pushed you?" Luciano asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, measured whisper. Every syllable sounded cold and dangerous.
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"Dario," Celeste sobbed, clutching her stomach as a wave of pain washed over her. "Dario pushed me down the stairs."
The air in the foyer seemed to instantly evaporate. Luciano did not blink. He slowly turned his head to fully face the top of the staircase. The romantic, charming look of the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead now framed the face of an absolute monster preparing for war. He gently kissed his wife’s forehead, his jaw locking into a rigid, unyielding line of stone.
