Chapter 2
The heavy, polished leather of Dante’s shoes struck the marble with terrifying purpose. He crossed the vast expanse of the reception hall in seconds, leaving his capos frozen in their tracks. The dark, cinematic shadow of his towering frame fell over the velvet chair before Helena could even register his movement.
Dante reached down, his heavily tattooed hands moving with absolute, brutal precision. He grabbed Helena’s wrist—the same hand that had just shoved his child to the floor—and tore her violently away from Lily. Helena gasped in sudden pain, her heavy rings digging into her own skin under the crushing pressure of his grip.
Without breaking his terrifying silence, Dante used his free hand to gently scoop the three-year-old girl off the cold marble. He lifted Lily securely against his chest, tucking her dirty, torn clothes against the pristine fabric of his expensive three-piece suit.
"Daddy…" Lily sobbed, her tiny hands clutching the lapels of his jacket. She buried her tear-stained, rosy face into his neck, her small frame shaking violently. "Daddy… she rings it all night. I’m so tired."
The words struck Dante like a physical blow. The cold, calculating demeanor of the veteran Don vanished, replaced by the primal, blinding rage of a father. He held his daughter tightly, his sharp jawline ticking as he stared down at the matriarch who had terrorized his blood.
"Dante, do not overreact," Helena commanded, attempting to mask her sudden, profound panic with aristocratic arrogance. She rubbed her bruised wrist, her American accent dripping with condescension. "The girl needs discipline. Since her mother died, she has been entirely unruly. I was merely teaching her the value of hard work and respect for her elders."
"You put my daughter in rags," Dante whispered. His voice was incredibly deep, slightly raspy, and dangerously low. He utilized controlled pauses, forcing every person in the room to hang on the lethal weight of his words. "You starved my heir."
"She is a spoiled brat!" Helena snapped back, standing up from her velvet chair. "She needed to learn that she isn't royalty just because she carries your name!"
From the periphery of the room, Maria Collins stepped forward. The forty-two-year-old estate housekeeper wore her professional uniform and crisp apron, her fair face pale with the terror of defying a senior family member. She moved toward an ornate, antique wooden cabinet positioned near the dining archway.
"Mr. Caruso," Maria said quietly, her voice trembling slightly under the collective gaze of the silent, heavily armed guests.
Maria pulled the heavy wooden doors of the cabinet open. She reached inside and pulled out a small, velvet-lined tray. Resting on the dark fabric were six identical, small brass service bells.
May you like
"One in every room," Maria whispered, presenting the tray to Dante. "Miss Helena distributed them to the senior staff last week while you were in Chicago. She ordered us to ring them constantly. If Lily didn't respond within thirty seconds, her meals were withheld."
The revelation hung in the bright, sunlit air like toxic smoke.
