Chapter 3
Adrian’s panic completely overrode his survival instinct. Believing he could overpower the Don before the contents of the camera were secured, Adrian squared his shoulders and swung. He threw a heavy, desperate right hook aimed directly at Domenico’s jaw.
It was a fatal miscalculation.
Domenico moved with absolute, lethal precision. Maintaining his secure hold on his three-year-old daughter with his left arm, he simply tilted his head, letting Adrian’s fist sail harmlessly past his cheek. As Adrian’s momentum carried him forward, Domenico’s right hand shot out like a striking viper. He caught Adrian’s forearm in an iron grip.
With a fluid, brutal pivot of his hips, Domenico used Adrian’s own weight against him. He executed a flawless, hard shoulder throw, his tailored three-piece suit pulling tight across his broad back.
Adrian was lifted entirely off his feet. He flew through the air, his expensive suit jacket twisting violently.
He crashed directly into the rolling service trolley.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy wooden trolley rocketed backward under the immense force of his body, slamming violently into the long drinks console behind it.
Dozens of crystal glasses stacked on the console shattered instantly, exploding across the marble floor in a shower of brilliant, sharp fragments. Folded linen napkins burst from their pristine wooden boxes, fluttering through the air like a sudden snowstorm. Heavy silver serving trays flipped end over end, clattering loudly onto the stone. Adrian collapsed through the splintering frame of the trolley, hitting the ground with a heavy, wet thud amidst the ruined glass and spilled champagne. He groaned, entirely incapacitated.
There was no dialogue. The entire reception descended into a heavy, ringing silence. The polite conversation, the clinking of glasses—it was all completely severed.
Domenico stood perfectly still, his breathing entirely even, as if he had merely adjusted a cufflink.
Genevieve, witnessing the brutal dismantling of her son, completely lost her mind. Driven by blind, hysterical desperation to retrieve the blinking camera, she lunged toward Lily, reaching her manicured hands out like claws.
"Give it to me!" Genevieve shrieked.
Domenico did not hesitate. As she closed the distance, he stepped into her path, keeping Lily safely behind his shoulder. He intercepted Genevieve’s wrist, his grip unyielding. With a swift, forceful motion, he turned her away from the child and redirected her momentum entirely.
He shoved her forcefully backward.
Genevieve stumbled in her high heels, her elegant formal gown snapping around her legs. She flew backward and crashed heavily into the extravagant decorative floral display positioned near the fireplace.
The lightweight metal stands buckled instantly. Massive buckets of fresh water and expensive blooms overturned. Decorative branches snapped and scattered wildly across the floor. Genevieve collapsed into the ruined arrangements, gasping as the breath was knocked from her lungs, her heavy pearl jewelry tangling in the broken stems.
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Instantly, four massive white American bodyguards in professional dark suits materialized from the edges of the room. They closed in around the fallen mother and son, their hands resting on their concealed weapons, entirely cutting off any avenue of escape.
No dialogue was spoken. The music had stopped. The room belonged to Domenico.
