Chapter 4
The bright, cinematic sunlight of the tennis court seemed to focus entirely on the trembling twenty-seven-year-old attendant. Cora Reed clutched her smartphone as if it were a live grenade. Her fair, rosy skin was ghostly white, but a profound, unyielding moral conviction forced her to stand her ground. She knew exactly who Damon Lockwood was, and she knew the risk of speaking up against the Price family, but she had watched a three-year-old child be abused, and she refused to stay silent.
Damon slowly turned his entire body toward the attendant. He kept Hazel securely nestled against his chest, shielding her from the tension. The artistic tattoos on his hand caught the light as he beckoned Cora forward.
"Show me," Damon commanded softly. His voice remained measured, cold, and dangerous, holding an absolute authority that demanded immediate compliance.
"You little liar!" Evelyn shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattering. She pointed a manicured finger at the staff member. "Do not show him anything! You are fired! Get off this court right now!"
"Bring the phone to me," Damon said, completely ignoring his fiancée's hysterical outburst.
Cora took three hesitant steps forward, her sneakers squeaking softly on the green surface. She held the phone out. The screen was brightly lit, clearly displaying a video recorded just moments earlier from the shade of the gate.
Damon looked down at the screen.
The high-definition video clearly showed Miles Price stepping up to the machine. The footage caught the forty-one-year-old man laughing as he manually adjusted the heavy barrel, ensuring the trajectory was aimed perfectly at Hazel’s small frame. Then, the camera panned slightly, perfectly capturing Evelyn repeatedly pressing the trigger on the remote, a vicious, cruel smile plastered across her face as the balls struck the weeping child.
The evidence was absolute, undeniable proof of premeditated, sadistic cruelty.
"Give me that phone!" Miles roared, panic finally breaking through his arrogant exterior.
Blinded by the catastrophic realization that the syndicate merger and his own life were suddenly in lethal jeopardy, Miles lunged forward. The forty-one-year-old man in the tailored jacket moved aggressively across the court, his leather shoes slapping the ground as he reached out with both hands, desperate to snatch the smartphone from Cora’s grip and destroy the evidence.
Cora gasped, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for the impact of the larger man.
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There was no dialogue. The air in the private tennis court became suffocatingly heavy.
Damon didn't shout. He didn't even hand his daughter over. Moving with the terrifying, explosive speed of a veteran predator, the Mafia Boss simply shifted his weight. He stepped directly into the path of the charging man, placing his broad, tailored shoulder entirely between the terrified attendant and the aggressive associate. The charming, romantic look of the loose hair on his forehead was a stark, horrifying contrast to the dark, violent executioner that had just been unleashed upon the court.
