Giulietta Marconi faced her fiancé Preston Hale as he raised a heavy metal golf club with malicious intent

Giulietta stared at Warren Hale. The bright, vivid colors of the bridal suite seemed to sharpen around her, framing her like a portrait of beautiful, lethal authority. She looked at the angry older man, then down at the golf club in her hand.

With a soft, metallic clatter, Giulietta dropped the club. It hit the hardwood floor and rolled lazily until it stopped right at Preston’s polished leather shoes.

"There," Giulietta said quietly. "I dropped it."

Warren let out a harsh, victorious breath, adjusting the vest of his three-piece suit. "Good. Now, you will fix your makeup, you will take my son’s arm, and you will walk out that door. And we will never discuss this embarrassing little outburst again."

"You misunderstand the situation, Warren," Giulietta said, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried perfectly across the quiet room.

"I misunderstand nothing," Warren spat. "You are a bride. Act like one."

"Look behind you," Giulietta instructed gently.

Warren frowned, highly irritated by her lack of submission. But the sudden, heavy silence emanating from the hallway outside the open door forced him to turn his head.

The bright, wide corridor outside the bridal suite was no longer empty. The space had been completely flooded with men. Over two dozen white American adult men, wearing professional, immaculate dark suits, stood in absolute, terrifying silence. They were the capos, the enforcers, and the elite bodyguards of the Marconi syndicate. Their fair faces were hardened masks of loyalty and violence, their hands resting casually inside their tailored jackets, hovering over concealed weapons.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall of pure, lethal muscle, waiting for a single word from the woman in the bridal gown.

Warren’s breath hitched in his throat. The color instantly drained from his rosy face, leaving him a pale, sickly white.

"What... what is this?" Warren stammered, stepping backward into the suite.

Giulietta took a slow step forward, the silk of her gown whispering against the floor. She looked Warren dead in the eyes, her gaze cold, lethal, and absolute.

"No," Giulietta said, her voice radiating absolute dominance. "Your son was marrying into mine."