Chapter 7
The sunlight in the room seemed to sharpen, acting as an unforgiving spotlight on the two traitors. The other bodyguards, seasoned white American men who had sworn blood oaths to the Bellucci syndicate, immediately grasped the magnitude of the revelation. In absolute, chilling synchronization, they turned their attention away from Adrian and locked their hard, furious gazes entirely onto Miles Caine.
Miles was completely surrounded by his own men. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet room.
"Boss, please," Miles stammered, raising his hands in a desperate, placating gesture. His fair skin was slick with a sudden, cold sweat. "The kid... she's confused. She doesn't know what she's saying. It’s a misunderstanding."
Adrian slowly turned his entire body to face the bodyguard. He kept Emma securely tucked behind him, his broad shoulders shielding her from the impending violence.
"My daughter," Adrian said, his voice a low, terrifying hum that vibrated through the floorboards. "Does not... misunderstand. And she certainly... does not lie."
Adrian took a slow, deliberate step forward. The polished leather of his shoes crunched softly over a crushed, bright red rose petal.
"You wore... a wedding band," Adrian noted, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto Miles’s left hand, which was now trembling violently. "A man... in my profession... notices details, Miles. I noticed the gold on your finger. I noticed... the way you reached for her... when she panicked."
"We can explain, Adrian!" Camille shrieked from the floor, scrambling to her knees among the ruined instrument cases. Her elegant formal dress was stained with water from the shattered vases. "It wasn't what it looks like! We were just... we were just trapped in a bad situation!"
"You... will remain silent," Adrian commanded without even glancing at her. The sheer, overwhelming authority in his tone forced Camille to snap her mouth shut, her teeth clicking together.
Adrian stopped three feet away from his bodyguard. The height and muscular dominance of the Mafia Boss made Miles look small, pathetic, and entirely defenseless.
"You ate... at my table," Adrian said, his measured words dripping with a cold, absolute disgust. "I paid you... to protect my blood. And instead... you conspired with a woman... who crushes the fingers... of a three-year-old child."
"Adrian, I swear to God, I didn't know she was going to hurt Emma!" Miles pleaded, tears of genuine terror welling in his eyes. He looked desperately at his fellow guards, finding no mercy in their stone-cold faces. "I told her to leave the kid alone! I swear I did!"
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"You told her," Adrian repeated softly, tilting his head slightly, the romantic, movie-star charm of his face forming a terrifying contrast to the monster lurking beneath his skin. "But you did not... stop her. Which makes you... complicit."
Adrian slowly reached his heavily tattooed right hand inside his unbuttoned vest, his fingers resting casually on the grip of the firearm holstered at his ribs. The subtle movement was not a threat; it was a promise of execution.
