Chapter 7
The impact of Ryan’s body against the outdoor grill-preparation station was spectacular and destructive. The heavy, custom-built metal framework shuddered violently beneath the bright, natural sunlight.
Metal mixing bowls, previously stacked neatly on the counter, launched into the air like silver projectiles, crashing and clanging against the stone patio. Heavy stainless steel barbecue utensils—tongs, spatulas, and carving forks—scattered wildly, bouncing across the pristine pavers. Woven bread baskets overturned, sending fresh rolls tumbling into the dirt. Glass condiment bottles bounced and shattered across the stone, spraying dark sauces over the scene.
The sheer weight of Ryan’s falling body was too much for the structure. The entire lightweight prep rack folded sideways, the metal legs buckling with a deafening screech. Ryan crashed brutally onto the patio, burying himself beneath the collapsing rack and the rain of scattered culinary equipment.
He lay there, completely stunned, groaning in agony as blood poured from his shattered jaw, staining his expensive button-down shirt.
The audience of white American capos, bodyguards, and family members stood absolutely frozen. No dialogue was spoken. The silence was heavy and suffocating. They stared in pure, unadulterated horror as the woman they thought was a figurehead physically dismantled their acting boss with a single, flawless strike.
Emily stood perfectly still, her breathing slow and controlled. She did not rub her knuckles or adjust her tailored suit. Her fair, rosy skin was unblemished, her dark hair immaculate. She exuded a deeply intimidating, raw masculine power that commanded total submission from every man watching her.
"Do not move," Emily commanded, her voice a low, lethal hum that swept over the frozen bodyguards. "Anyone who steps forward to help him will share his fate."
None of the hardened criminals moved a single muscle. They recognized the true Boss, and they recognized the absolute, justified fury of a mother defending her young.
From the shattered patio doors, Patricia Moretti gasped, clutching her pearl necklace in horror as she looked at her bleeding son. "Emily! Have you lost your mind? You broke his jaw!"
"He is lucky I did not break his neck," Emily replied coldly, not even turning her head to look at her mother-in-law.
She turned her attention back to Ethan, who was staring at her with wide, awe-struck eyes. He had never seen anyone stand up to his father, let alone destroy him so effortlessly.
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"It's okay, Ethan," Emily said softly, her voice shifting instantly to a tender, maternal tone. "Mommy is going to get you out of here right now."
Before she could kneel back down to address the chain, a shrill, hysterical scream pierced the air.
