Chapter 2
The bright, cheerful colors of the floral displays seemed to mock the sickening reality of the scene. Adrian did not run, but his long, purposeful strides devoured the distance between the doorway and the grand piano in a matter of seconds. The tailored fabric of his dark three-piece suit shifted fluidly with his movements. His angular face, highlighted by a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline, and extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble, was set in a mask of absolute, terrifying stone.
Before Camille could even attempt to step back or formulate a lie to excuse her horrific actions, Adrian was upon them. He reached out with his large, heavily tattooed hands. The artistic ink on his fingers and the back of his hands featured refined, sharp designs with enough negative space to look elegant, yet undeniably dangerous. He gripped the heavy wooden fallboard of the grand piano and effortlessly ripped it upward, throwing it back with such force that it slammed against the music desk.
Freed from the crushing weight, Emma let out a breathless, agonizing wail.
Adrian immediately dropped to one knee, wrapping his powerful arms around his daughter and pulling her flush against his chest. Emma buried her tear-stained, rosy face into the lapel of his expensive suit, her tiny body trembling violently as she sobbed.
"Daddy, she hurt my hand," Emma wept, her voice muffled against his chest. She held her small, reddened fingers up, clutching them desperately against his tailored vest. "She squished them. It hurts so much."
"I have you, principessa," Adrian murmured, his deep American accent vibrating with a fierce, protective warmth reserved only for his blood. He gently took her small, injured hand into his own, his thumb lightly grazing the inflamed, rosy skin of her knuckles to assess the damage. No bones appeared broken, but the malicious intent was undeniable.
Adrian slowly turned his head, his cold, sharp eyes locking directly onto Camille.
Camille had taken a step back, her high heels clicking nervously against the floorboards. However, driven by a toxic mixture of arrogance and a severe miscalculation of her own power within the Bellucci syndicate, she folded her arms across her chest. She lifted her chin, attempting to mask her panic with a facade of haughty defiance, showing absolutely no remorse for torturing a toddler.
"She was snooping around my private conversations, Adrian," Camille stated, her voice icy and defensive. "She is entirely undisciplined. I was simply teaching her a lesson."
Adrian did not immediately reply. He remained perfectly still on one knee, holding his crying daughter. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating in the bright, sunlit room.
"That’s the price," Camille continued coldly, emboldened by his silence, "a nosy little brat pays for eavesdropping on adult matters."
"You believe... my daughter," Adrian finally spoke, his voice dropping into a register of pure, concentrated danger. He kept his volume dangerously low, spacing his words with terrifying precision. "Is a brat... who deserves... to have her hands crushed."
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"She needs to learn respect for her elders," Camille shot back, her fair skin flushing a deep, angry pink. "I am going to be her stepmother. I will not have her spying on me in my own home!"
Adrian’s eyes darkened. The charming, romantic movie-star aesthetic completely vanished, replaced by the apex predator of the criminal underworld preparing to dismantle a threat.
