Chapter 2
Before Massimo could take another breath, Evelyn Hale stepped forward from the champagne table. At sixty-three, Grant’s mother moved with theatrical, hurried grace, her layered freshwater pearls clicking against her designer formal gown. Her fair, powdered face was tight with panicked indignation.
"Oh, hush now, Noah!" Evelyn snapped, reaching down with sharp, manicured nails. She violently jerked Isabella’s sleeve downward over the bruised skin, then shoved the three-year-old boy backward toward the marble floor. "She just fell on her own. Clumsy girl tripped on the limestone terrace yesterday afternoon."
Noah stumbled, his small heels skidding. But before the child could strike the stone, Massimo’s large, calloused hand caught the boy by the collar of his suit, scooping him effortlessly into his chest.
Massimo handed Noah to his trusted enforcer, Frank, who stood half a pace behind him. "Take the boy into the office, Frank."
"Yes, Don Massimo," Frank whispered.
Across the room, thirty capos and high-ranking collectors went completely rigid. Glasses hovered inches from open mouths. In a synchronized, chilling motion, every armed soldier in the room turned his gaze directly toward Grant Hale.
Grant realized the room had changed. The air had vanished; the political protection he assumed his family held was dissolving under the weight of Massimo’s dead, unblinking glare. Desperation and cowardice detonated in Grant’s chest.
"Stay out of our marriage, old man!" Grant roared.
Grant charged forward, throwing his entire weight into a wild, sweeping right hook aimed straight at Massimo’s jaw.
Massimo didn't even widen his stance. With the effortless, devastating economy of a veteran street fighter, Massimo dipped his chin half an inch, slipping cleanly to the outside of the incoming punch. Before Grant’s fist cleared empty air, Massimo drove an explosive, bone-shattering counterpunch directly across Grant’s cheekbone.
The crack of knuckles smashing bone echoed like a rifle shot across the showroom.
Grant spun violently backward through the air. His heavy frame slammed full-force into the rolling merchandising cart stationed beside the display cabinets.
The cart rocketed across the showroom with a metallic shriek. Padded velvet sample boards burst from their slots, empty leather presentation cases flipped open like startled wings, and rolls of display silk scattered across the carpet. Grant crashed straight through the folding lower shelves, groaning in agony as the entire cart buckled and collapsed around his bleeding form.
Seeing her son broken in the debris, Evelyn lost what little sanity she had left. Screaming with hysterical entitlement, she lunged toward Isabella, her clawed fingers reaching out to cover the exposed bruises once more.
"You ruined him! You ungrateful little bitch—"
Massimo intercepted her mid-stride. His left hand clamped around Evelyn’s wrist like an iron vise, tearing her hand away with a brutal torque that forced a scream from her lungs.
Then, Massimo brought his open right hand across her face.
The thunderous slap reverberated through the vaulted hall like thunder.
Evelyn was lifted out of her designer heels, spinning sideways into the tall gift-finishing station. The wooden unit toppled. Ribbon spools launched from their brass pegs, unraveling in vibrant ribbons across the floor. Bundles of tissue paper burst outward, empty velvet jewelry boxes tumbled from the shelves, and decorative bags rained down over Evelyn as she collapsed beneath the tilted frame.
Massimo stepped over the ruined silk and velvet, stopping two feet from where Grant lay bleeding among the shattered sample boards.
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"You hid the marks," Massimo murmured, his voice quiet, steady, and chillingly lethal, "because you knew exactly who would see them."
Grant looked up through his swollen eye, his face frozen in pure, unadulterated terror.
