Chapter 3
The distance between the perimeter and the center of the salon vanished in a blur of motion. Massimo reached Sofia and supported her carefully, dropping to his knees without a second thought for his tailored dark three-piece suit. He wrapped his powerful, deeply masculine arms around her trembling shoulders, holding her upright as she groaned in agonizing pain.
"Sofia, bambina, look at me," Massimo pleaded, his American accent thick with terror and rage. "Where is the pain? Tell me."
"My baby," Sofia wept, her fair skin drained of all its rosy color, leaving her looking like porcelain. She clutched her stomach desperately. "He hit the baby."
From across the room, three-year-old Noah Hale rushed toward his mother. The little boy, dressed in an elegant child’s party outfit and tiny polished shoes, had been playing near the gift tables. Seeing his mother collapse, he sprinted across the floor, tears streaming down his face.
"Mommy!" Noah cried out, dropping to his knees beside Massimo.
Noah reached out with his small hands and grabbed his mother's arm. As he pulled, Sofia’s elegant maternity sleeve pulled upward. The bright, cinematic lighting of the salon illuminated her fair skin with brutal clarity—revealing several older bruises, dark and ugly shades of purple and yellow, wrapped tightly around her wrist and forearm like shackles.
Massimo stared at the bruises. The veteran Mafia boss's heart stopped. The realization that his daughter had been suffering systematic, violent abuse right under his nose ignited an apocalyptic fire in his soul.
Noah looked at his grandfather, his bright blue eyes wide with terror, tears continuing to spill over his rosy cheeks. The innocent child, entirely unaware of the lethal consequences of his words in a room full of armed mobsters, spoke the absolute, terrifying truth.
“Grandpa… Dad locked Mom up with a strange man,” Noah cried, sobbing through his tears.
The words struck the salon like lightning. A strange man. Locked in a room with the pregnant daughter of the Boss. The implications were horrific, a violation of the highest order in their syndicate.
Massimo’s jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against his crisp dress shirt. He slowly turned his cold, intimidating eyes from the bruised arm of his daughter up to the face of his son-in-law.
"What did the boy just say?" Massimo whispered. The volume of his voice was terrifyingly low, carrying a lethal, promised violence that made the surrounding capos take a collective step back.
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Adrian’s arrogant confidence evaporated. He took a slow, trembling step backward, his polished leather shoes scraping against the floorboards. "Massimo, wait, it's a misunderstanding..."
"You locked my daughter in a room with another man?" Massimo asked, his voice dead and hollow.
