Chapter 3
The bright, cinematic colors of the reception hall seemed to sharpen, focusing entirely on the chaotic wreckage surrounding the mahogany chair. Dominic groaned, struggling to sit up as the heavy presence of a dozen armed bodyguards boxed him in. The elite guests, understanding the lethal gravity of family business, remained entirely motionless, their faces pale under the brilliant lighting.
Vincent took a slow, deliberate step forward, keeping Leo securely behind him while Emma moved quickly to stand safely beside the boy, her hand resting protectively on his small shoulder.
"Vincent, please," Dominic wheezed, adjusting his torn suit jacket. His fair skin was sweating profusely, the rosy tint replaced by a sickly gray. "You can't take the word of the hired help over your own blood. I am a senior capo! I have bled for this family!"
Vincent did not raise his voice. He did not yell. He leaned forward slightly, his deeply masculine, intimidating presence suffocating the space between them.
"How many times have you raised that hand at him?" Vincent growled through clenched teeth. His deep voice was a lethal, quiet promise of absolute destruction.
Dominic’s face became completely, genuinely frightened. He looked into Vincent's cold, sharp eyes and saw no mercy, only the methodical calculation of a man deciding exactly how to dismantle his enemy.
"Never! I swear to God, Vincent, never!" Dominic pleaded, his American accent cracking into a pathetic whine. "I was just trying to toughen him up! The boy is soft. If he is going to run this empire one day, he cannot be afraid of his own shadow!"
"If you ever speak of my son's future again, I will tear your tongue from your mouth," Vincent replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He slowly stood up to his full, towering height. He adjusted his tailored waistcoat, his family signet ring catching the light.
He turned his head slightly toward his right-hand man, an older, seasoned enforcer named Paul.
"Clear the hall," Vincent commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. "The reception is over. I want every guest escorted to their vehicles immediately. No one speaks to the press. No one speaks to the other families. If a single rumor about this leaks, I will hold the capos personally responsible."
"Understood, Boss," Paul nodded grimly. He immediately began signaling his men, methodically moving the whispering, terrified guests toward the grand double doors.
Vincent turned his attention back to Emma. The twenty-four-year-old housekeeper was trembling slightly, holding Leo’s small hand tightly in hers. Despite the violent assault she had just endured, her primary focus remained entirely on the sobbing three-year-old.
"Emma," Vincent said, his harsh tone softening just a fraction. "Are you injured?"
"I am fine, Mr. Moretti," Emma answered quickly, her bright blue eyes meeting his. "But Leo needs to be away from here. He is terrified."
"Take him to my private study on the third floor," Vincent instructed. "Lock the heavy steel doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone except me. I will send two guards to stand post in the hallway."
"Yes, sir," Emma nodded. She gently scooped Leo into her arms, ignoring the dull ache in her spine, and hurried toward the private staff elevators, carrying the heir of the Moretti empire away from the danger.
Once his son was safely out of sight, Vincent looked back down at his cousin. Dominic was still trapped in the chair, surrounded by the barrels of suppressed weapons.
"Take him to the basement," Vincent ordered, his voice cold and devoid of any familial warmth. "Strap him to the chair. Do not let him sleep."
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"Vincent, you can't do this!" Dominic screamed as two massive bodyguards grabbed him by the arms, hauling him roughly to his feet. "I am your cousin! The Commission won't allow this!"
"I am the Commission," Vincent stated simply, watching with dead eyes as they dragged the thrashing, desperate man out of the bright reception hall and down into the darkness.
