Chapter 2
The sudden violence shattered the elegant warmth of the banquet hall. The soft, luminous lighting seemed to turn harsh and unforgiving as the two bodyguards pressed their weight into Eamon’s shoulders. The Black American guard gripped his right arm, while the white American guard locked down his left. The sheer force of their hold immobilized the Mafia boss completely against the carved back of the dining chair.
Eamon did not thrash or struggle. His swept-back dark hair remained perfectly in place, but the muscles in his sharp jawline bunched as he looked up at the men restraining him.
"Do you men understand what happens to those who lay hands on me?" Eamon asked, his deep voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying, measured calm that sent a chill through the nearest guests.
"They take their orders from me now, Eamon," Winona announced, stepping out from behind the chair so she was fully visible to the room. Her luxurious birthday gown rustled as she moved.
From beneath the table, Winona lifted a large, wrapped birthday box. It looked like a standard, beautifully decorated gift. But as she held it over Eamon’s chest, the bottom of the box gave way. It had been meticulously prepared for this exact moment.
A horrifying cascade of wet, foul-smelling food scraps, coffee grounds, and kitchen garbage poured out of the box. The refuse struck Eamon’s tailored dark suit, spilling violently across his vest, his silk tie, and his lap. The cold, wet slime clung to the expensive fabric, completely ruining the immaculate image of the syndicate’s leader.
A collective gasp echoed from the sixty relatives and guests. But then, breaking the silence, several of the older relatives—those strictly loyal to Winona’s old regime—began to laugh. The cruel, mocking sound bounced off the ivory-paneled walls.
Winona tossed the empty cardboard box onto the floor, a triumphant, wicked smirk spreading across her fair, rosy face. She looked around the room, making sure every single person was watching the humiliation of the man who had usurped her power.
"Trash for the false heir," Winona mocked, her voice echoing loudly over the laughter. "It is time this family stopped bowing to an imposter."
Eamon sat perfectly still under the weight of the garbage and the crushing grip of the guards. His cold, observant eyes locked onto his aunt. He did not yell, nor did he break his rule of absolute control.
"Is this the extent of your grand rebellion, Winona?" Eamon asked quietly, the deep resonance of his voice cutting straight through the laughter. "Spoiled food and cheap parlor tricks?"
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"It is the beginning of your end," Winona spat, her pearls clicking together as she leaned over him. "You stole this syndicate from my side of the family. You paraded around as the rightful boss. But today, the truth comes out."
In the periphery of the bright, airy room, Oriana stood frozen in horror. Her expressive eyes were wide, taking in the sight of the powerful, masculine man she deeply respected covered in refuse. While the rest of the staff backed away in fear, Oriana’s hands balled into tight fists against her white apron. The laughter of the guests made her stomach turn. She could not just stand there and watch him be degraded.
