Chapter 3
Preston’s rosy face contorted with sudden, blinding rage. His ego, fragile and inflated, shattered instantly against the brick wall of Giulietta's defiance.
"You arrogant bitch!" Preston roared.
He gripped the metal golf club with both hands, stepping into the swing with all his weight, aiming a brutal, horizontal strike directly at Giulietta’s ribs. It was a swing meant to break bones, meant to fold her onto the floor in a weeping, submissive heap.
But Giulietta was not there when the metal passed through the air.
With blinding speed and the ingrained muscle memory of a woman trained by the most lethal enforcers in the American underworld, Giulietta sidestepped. The heavy silk of her luxurious gown flared as she pivoted on her heel, dodging the club by mere inches. The momentum of the missed swing pulled Preston forward, throwing his center of gravity entirely off balance.
Before Preston could recover, Giulietta’s hands struck out like vipers. Her left hand clamped down on his wrist with bone-crushing force, locking his arm in place. With her right hand, she delivered a brutal, precise strike to the inside of his elbow.
Preston gasped in shock and pain, his grip on the club involuntarily releasing.
"What the hell are you—" Preston choked out, his eyes widening in sheer panic.
"Shut up," Giulietta hissed.
She stripped the metal club from his loosened hands in one fluid motion. Using his forward momentum against him, she stepped into his guard, planted her hand firmly on his chest, and forcefully shoved him backward.
Preston stumbled wildly, his polished leather shoes slipping on the hardwood floor. He fell backward, his arms flailing, and crashed violently onto the plush crimson sofa. The cushions swallowed his impact, leaving him sprawling in a pathetic, undignified heap.
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Giulietta stood over him in the bright, cinematic light. The beautiful, delicate bride was gone, replaced by a towering, intimidating titan of the underworld. She held the metal golf club effortlessly in her right hand, resting the heavy head against the floor.
There was no dialogue. The room was absolutely silent, save for Preston’s rapid, terrified panting as he stared up at the woman he had intended to break.
