Chapter 5
The silence that followed Bianca’s threat was absolute and suffocating. The bright, natural light from the massive windows seemed to spotlight the sheer, suicidal audacity of her words.
Alessandro stood perfectly still. His thick, slicked-back hair did not move. His cold, sharp, intimidating eyes bored into her fair, rosy face, stripping away the layers of her aristocratic arrogance until only her naked vulnerability remained. He held the electric clippers in his right hand, the vibration buzzing softly against his tattooed fingers.
No dialogue was spoken. The absence of words was more terrifying than any scream.
Alessandro slowly turned his gaze toward the expansive makeup table. It was loaded with expensive cosmetics, crystal perfume bottles, and perfectly arranged brushes. Sitting directly beside it was the rolling bridal vanity stool.
With a sudden, violent surge of raw, masculine power, Alessandro threw the heavy electric clippers hard onto the bridal vanity.
The clippers struck the surface like a missile. Crystal bottles shattered instantly, raining jagged glass across the white marble floor. Expensive makeup boxes tumbled and exploded, scattering clouds of fine powder and bright pigments across the pristine table. The mirror cracked from the impact, a jagged spiderweb of fractured glass reflecting the chaos.
Bianca gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in pure shock as her belongings were obliterated in a fraction of a second.
Before she could even process the destruction of the vanity, Alessandro pivoted. He planted his polished leather shoe firmly against the heavy metal base of the rolling vanity stool. With a flawless, devastating motion, he forcefully kicked the stool directly toward his fiancée.
The heavy stool rocketed across the marble floor with incredible speed.
It struck Bianca brutally in the shins. The impact swept her legs entirely out from under her. She let out a sharp, breathless shriek as she flew backward. Her heavy wedding gown twisted around her as she crashed violently into the velvet-lined vanity chair.
The chair tipped backward from her weight, slamming against the wall. More makeup boxes, dislodged by the vibration, tumbled down from the upper shelves, raining compacts and lipsticks all around her. Bianca lay sprawled awkwardly in the plush chair, gasping for air, her perfectly styled hair now a chaotic mess.
Still, no dialogue was spoken.
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The white American bodyguards stationed in the outer corridor had heard the crash, but none dared to enter the room. They knew their Boss. They knew the terrifying, measured violence that defined his reign.
Alessandro stood in the center of the wreckage. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled rhythms. His angular face and defined jawline looked as though they were carved from granite. He stared down at the woman who had just threatened his empire, waiting for her to understand the gravity of what she had done.
