Chapter 6
The bright cinematic light caught the heavy gold signet ring on Rafael's hand as he took a slow, deliberate step toward the enormous dessert table. The air around him felt dense, charged with a violent, electric potential. The laughing relatives had long since fallen silent, their fair faces turning ashen as they realized the situation had escalated far beyond a simple disciplinary moment.
"Rafael, sit down," Lucille ordered, her voice sharp and authoritative, attempting to maintain her control over the family dynamic. "You are making a scene over nothing. The child needs to learn that the world does not revolve around his amateur crafts."
Rafael ignored her completely. He closed the distance to the massive table, stopping right in front of the exquisite, towering centerpieces. He stared at the pristine white silk tablecloth, his chest rising and falling with slow, perfectly controlled breaths.
"You prefer... this," Rafael murmured, his voice incredibly low, yet echoing off the stone walls of the estate.
"We prefer excellence," Celina retorted, crossing her arms defensively. "We are the Montaro family. We do not settle for less."
"Then you should learn," Rafael said, looking directly into Celina’s eyes, "what it feels like... to have nothing."
Without any further warning, Rafael stepped forward and slammed his heavily tattooed hands violently onto the edge of the massive banquet table. He didn't just push it; he unleashed the full, terrifying extent of his deeply masculine, brutal strength. He gripped the thick wooden lip of the table and forcefully heaved upward.
The entire twenty-foot-long table buckled under his immense power.
The structure violently overturned, flipping upward and crashing forward onto the stone terrace. The sound was deafening, an apocalyptic roar of destruction. Hundreds of crystal champagne glasses shattered explosively against the stone. Massive, multi-tiered cakes collapsed into ruin, sending thick white frosting and delicate spun sugar flying through the air. Priceless porcelain plates smashed into jagged fragments.
The entire opulent spread—thousands of dollars of catering—was utterly annihilated in a single, catastrophic second. The bright colors of the desserts mixed into a chaotic, grotesque mess on the ground, far more horrific than the small cobbler Emmett had dropped.
Lucille and Celina shrieked in absolute terror. They stumbled backward violently, their high heels skidding on the stone as a wave of flying crystal and shattered cake crashed at their feet. Celina lost her balance and fell hard onto her hands and knees, her expensive garden-party dress instantly soaked in spilled champagne and crushed pastries.
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Every single guest on the terrace fell dead silent. The music seemed to stop. The world froze.
Rafael stood amidst the absolute wreckage, his hands resting at his sides, his suit perfectly intact. He didn't yell. He didn't curse. The destruction was the message. He looked down at the ruined feast, his face a mask of cold, unyielding stone.
