Chapter 8
The bright cinematic light of the afternoon seemed to sharpen, acting as a harsh spotlight on the trapped women. The presence of the bodyguards standing like statues behind Lucille and Celina solidified the terrifying reality of their situation. Celina slowly pushed herself up from the sticky, ruined pavement, her elegant dress stained and ruined, tears of genuine panic streaming down her rosy cheeks.
"Rafael, please," Celina begged, her voice high and breathless. All her previous mockery had evaporated, replaced by the pathetic whining of a coward facing the consequences of her cruelty. "I was just joking. We didn't mean anything by it! It's just a dessert! Please, don't do this!"
"You called my son's gift... garbage," Rafael replied, his voice a low, steady hum that vibrated with suppressed violence. He didn't even look at her; his eyes remained fixed on Lucille. "You said... a dog wouldn't eat it."
"I was stupid! I was just trying to be funny!" Celina wept, reaching out a trembling hand toward him. "We are family, Rafael! You can't turn your back on us!"
"I am not turning my back on you," Rafael said softly, a cold, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. It was a smile completely devoid of warmth. "I am looking right at you. Both of you."
He turned his attention back to the senior capos, who were standing frozen near the edge of the terrace. These were the men who ran the illicit businesses, the gambling rings, and the extortion rackets. They were hard, violent men, but even they were profoundly shaken by the sheer, unbridled rage their boss had just displayed.
"Vincent," Rafael commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel.
The broad-shouldered capo stepped forward immediately, bowing his head slightly. "Yes, Boss."
"Freeze their accounts," Rafael ordered, his tone methodical and absolute. "Every trust, every credit line, every offshore holding with their names on it. Drain them. By midnight tonight, I do not want them to have enough money to buy a cup of coffee."
"Rafael, you cannot do this!" Lucille shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattering. She lunged forward, her hands clawing desperately at his suit jacket. "That money belongs to me! My husband earned that money!"
Rafael didn't even flinch. He simply looked down at her hands on his chest.
Before he could react, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, grabbing Lucille roughly by the shoulder and pulling her violently away from the Mafia Boss. The elderly woman stumbled, crying out in pain as the guard forced her back into place.
"Your husband has been dead for ten years," Rafael stated, adjusting his jacket where she had wrinkled it. "I made that money. I built this empire. And I am taking it all back."
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"You are a monster," Lucille sobbed, her face buried in her hands, her pearl necklace trembling against her chest.
"I am a father," Rafael corrected quietly. He turned away from them, looking out over the terrified crowd of relatives. "Everyone who laughed today... has one hour to pack their belongings and leave my properties. If I see your faces again, I will not be flipping tables."
