Chapter 2
The harsh buzzing of the electric hair clippers grew louder as Bianca rose from the rolling bridal vanity stool. The heavy silk of her luxurious wedding gown dragged across the pristine marble floor. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the terrifying, cruel smile spreading across her fair, rosy face.
"Please, Miss Moretti," Rosalie pleaded, her American accent trembling as she instinctively stepped between the bride and the three-year-old girl. "Mr. Rizzano specifically asked that Livia’s hair be left exactly as it is. The stylist spent an hour on those curls."
"I do not care what the stylist did, and I certainly do not take orders from a maid," Bianca snapped, her diamond earrings flashing in the natural, white sunlight. "Move out of my way, Rosalie, or I will have Alessandro fire you before the ceremony even begins."
"I cannot let you do that," Rosalie said, her voice shaking, but she held her ground, shielding Livia with her professional uniform apron.
"You insolent little bitch!" Bianca screamed.
With a sudden, violent shove, Bianca pushed Rosalie hard against the shoulder. The maid stumbled sideways, her flats slipping on the polished marble. Before Rosalie could regain her balance, Bianca reached out and grabbed Livia by the arm, jerking the terrified three-year-old forward.
Livia shrieked, struggling against the grown woman’s tight grip. "Let me go! It hurts!"
"Stand still!" Bianca yelled.
Without a fraction of hesitation, Bianca forcefully ran the vibrating electric clippers directly across the right side of Livia’s head.
The blade bit into the soft, perfectly styled curls. A thick, long section of the little girl's hair was brutally severed. It fell through the bright, sunlit air and landed on the immaculate white floor, a devastating contrast against the marble.
Livia recoiled violently, screaming in pure, unadulterated terror as the clippers buzzed against her scalp. She ripped her arm out of Bianca's grasp, stumbling backward.
Rosalie recovered her footing and immediately threw herself forward. She dropped to her knees, pulling Livia tightly against her chest, using her own body to completely shield the weeping child from the bride.
"You are a monster!" Rosalie shouted, tears welling in her own eyes as she held the shaking girl.
Bianca stood over them, the electric clippers still buzzing loudly in her hand. She looked down at the thick clump of hair on the floor and threw her head back, laughing loudly and sarcastically. Her American accent was thick with cruel, unfiltered arrogance.
"Don’t worry," Bianca sneered, waving the clippers dismissively. "I trim my dog’s fur regularly. It grows back."
Livia buried her rosy face into Rosalie’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. "My hair! She took my hair!"
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"I've got you, sweetie. I've got you," Rosalie whispered frantically, rocking the child back and forth. "It's going to be okay."
"It looks much better," Bianca mocked, turning back toward her makeup table. "Now get her out of my sight before I finish the other side."
