Chapter 9
The panic that erupted on the terrace was instantaneous and absolute. The wealthy relatives, the very people who had laughed at a crying three-year-old just minutes before, broke into a frantic, desperate scramble. High heels clicked frantically against the stone as aunts, uncles, and cousins sprinted toward the main house, desperate to pack their bags and escape the wrath of the Mafia boss before the one-hour deadline expired. The bright, festive garden party had transformed into a mass evacuation.
Rafael did not watch them flee. He had entirely disconnected from the people who shared his last name. He turned his back on the ruined dessert table, ignoring the sobbing pleas of Celina and the silent, shocked weeping of Lucille.
"Vincent," Rafael said, his voice returning to its normal, low, measured cadence.
"Boss," Vincent replied, stepping closer, his eyes respectfully averted from the mess on the ground.
"Keep the guards stationed at their doors," Rafael instructed, gesturing vaguely toward his aunt and cousin. "Once they have packed exactly one suitcase each, have them driven to the city limits and left there. Ensure their phones are confiscated."
"Consider it done," Vincent nodded firmly. "And the rest of the syndicate? This is going to cause a massive shift in the power dynamic. The rival families might see this internal purge as a moment of weakness."
"Let them look," Rafael murmured, his cold eyes sweeping over the vibrant green lawn. "When they see that I am willing to burn my own bloodline to the ground over a single insult... they will understand exactly what I will do to them if they ever cross me. This is not weakness, Vincent. This is absolute clarity."
"Understood, Boss."
Rafael left the ruined terrace, his polished shoes carrying him swiftly away from the chaos. He walked through the massive, high-ceilinged corridors of his estate, the bright, natural light from the skylights illuminating his path. The anger still hummed in his veins, but it was heavily overshadowed by a desperate need to see his son.
He exited the main house and walked toward the circular driveway where his fleet of black, armored SUVs was parked.
The door of the lead vehicle was open. Inside, safely strapped into a leather car seat, sat little Emmett. The three-year-old had stopped crying, but his fair, rosy cheeks were still stained with tears and the dark purple juice of the blackberry cobbler. He was holding a clean cloth, given to him by one of the bodyguards, nervously wiping at the stains on his elegant banquet outfit.
Rafael felt his heart clench. He stripped off his tailored suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the front seat, leaving him in just his unbuttoned white shirt, his artistic tattoos fully visible. He climbed into the back of the massive SUV, pulling the heavy door shut behind him, sealing them in a quiet, climate-controlled sanctuary away from the world.
"Hey, buddy," Rafael whispered softly, leaning over to gently unbuckle the car seat harness.
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Emmett looked up, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable. "Daddy? Are we going home?"
"We are going wherever you want to go, Emmett," Rafael promised, lifting the small boy into his lap and wrapping his strong arms securely around him.
