Chapter 5
Water still dripped steadily from the hem of Valentina’s dark pantsuit, forming small, dark puddles on the pristine stone tiles. The rhythmic drip, drip, drip was the only sound in the cavernous, brightly lit conservatory.
Valentina slowly walked away from the crumpled, groaning form of Victor and approached the ruined shade-panel rack where Celeste lay tangled in fabric and plant ties.
Celeste scrambled backward on her hands and knees, pushing the heavy garden cloths off her face. Her luxurious gown was torn, her perfectly styled hair was a ruined mess, and her fair skin was marred by a deep, ugly red welt across her cheek. She looked up at her cousin, and for the first time in her privileged life, her face became entirely, genuinely frightened.
Valentina stood over her, a dark, imposing silhouette against the bright, natural light filtering through the glass ceiling. She looked down at the woman who had tried to drown her child.
"A little lesson?" Valentina said. Her voice was quiet, lethal, and vibrating with an ancient, unforgiving rage. "I’ve got a little lesson for you too."
"Valentina, please," Celeste whimpered, her American accent cracking with terror. "It was Victor's idea! He said you were getting too soft! He said the donors were losing faith!"
"You tried to murder a three-year-old boy, Celeste," Valentina replied, her voice remaining terrifyingly steady. "You looked him in the eyes, and you threw him into deep water. You do not get to blame the old man for the malice in your own hands."
"I was just trying to protect the family!" Celeste sobbed, holding her bruised face. "The New York syndicate is moving on our territory! Victor said we needed a leader who wasn't distracted by motherhood!"
"Lock the doors," Valentina commanded, not taking her eyes off Celeste.
The loyal capos and bodyguards stationed around the perimeter moved in unison. The heavy brass locks of the conservatory's grand entrances clicked shut, sealing the donors, the staff, and the conspirators inside the humid, brightly colored room.
"Bring him over here," Valentina ordered.
Two thick-necked bodyguards waded into the wreckage of the bonsai trolley. They hauled Victor up by the lapels of his expensive formal suit, dragging him across the floor, and threw him down onto the wet stone right next to Celeste.
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Victor coughed, a thin line of blood trickling from his nose, his old family ring scraping against the tile. "You are making a mistake, Valentina. You can't run this family without my connections."
"Your connections just watched you get beaten by a wet woman in a botanical garden," Valentina said coldly, gesturing to the silent, watching donors. "I think your leverage has expired."
