Chapter 3
The cinematic light of the afternoon sun caught the sudden, sharp movement of the housemaid. The fifty guests surrounding the tables gasped collectively, their champagne glasses momentarily forgotten as the impossible unfolded before them.
"Let him go!" Maura screamed, her voice cracking with terror and defiance.
Gwendolyn sneered, entirely ignoring the maid. She jerked Rafferty forward again by his lapel, attempting to drag the injured Mafia boss fully onto his feet to complete the humiliation.
Maura grabbed one of the long, padded practice mallets from the wooden rack. She didn't hesitate. She gripped the heavy handle with both hands, twisting her hips to generate momentum, and swung the mallet with every ounce of strength she possessed.
She drove the heavy, cushioned head of the practice mallet ONCE directly into Gwendolyn’s abdomen.
The impact was a dull, heavy thud that echoed across the silent practice lane.
Gwendolyn’s eyes bulged in absolute shock. All the air left her lungs in a violent rush. She instantly released Rafferty’s lapel, doubling over and gasping for a breath she couldn't catch. She stumbled backward, her low heels dragging through the deep white sand.
She crashed heavily into a collapsible sponsor display set up near the edge of the lane. The lightweight metal frame folded sideways under her weight with a loud screech. Fabric banners and thick foam sideline cushions tumbled down, collapsing entirely around her as she dropped into the sand.
The sudden, shocking violence from the gentle housemaid completely derailed the two massive bodyguards. Both the Black American and the white American guard abandoned their posts at the iron gate, hurrying down the wooden steps to help their gasping, fallen employer.
The watching guests stopped breathing. The polite, affluent conversation that had characterized the luncheon evaporated into a suffocating, terrified silence. No one spoke a word. The air grew heavy, thick with the promise of impending violence.
Maura did not look at the woman thrashing beneath the fallen banners. She immediately lowered the practice mallet onto the sand, dropping it as if it burned her hands.
She turned immediately back to Rafferty.
She slipped quickly beneath his right arm, wrapping her arm securely around his waist.
"Lean on me," Maura instructed softly, her voice shaking with residual adrenaline.
With immense care, she carefully helped him stand to his full height, leveraging her own body weight so that he didn't have to put any pressure on his twisted ankle. Her lips trembled violently as she looked up, checking his handsome face for any signs of worsening pain.
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Rafferty did not look at the guards rushing toward his cousin. He looked down at the housemaid supporting him. His cold, dangerous eyes softened, recognizing the profound, insane bravery she had just exhibited.
He reached out with his free hand, his heavily tattooed fingers gently grasping the wooden railing of the viewing platform to steady his weight. He stood tall, his dark suit dusted with sand, but his terrifying, cinematic aura of power fully restored.
