Chapter 3
The cinematic light reflecting off the identical brass bells was blinding. Dante stared at the velvet tray, his terrifying, sharp eyes mapping the full extent of the psychological torture his three-year-old daughter had endured. He looked back at Lily, who was still weeping softly against his neck, shivering in her torn clothes.
"You authorized this," Dante murmured, shifting his gaze back to Helena.
Helena’s rosy complexion turned a sickly, pale white as the reality of Maria’s betrayal sank in. Driven by a surge of desperate, feral anger, the sixty-four-year-old matriarch lunged forward.
"You traitorous bitch!" Helena screamed, violently shoving the housekeeper aside. Maria stumbled backward, dropping the velvet tray. The brass bells hit the marble floor, clattering loudly and rolling across the pristine tiles in a chaotic symphony of ringing metal.
Ignoring the fallen housekeeper, Helena reached her manicured hands out aggressively toward Lily, intending to snatch the child back to assert her dominance.
She never even touched the fabric of the little girl’s clothes.
Dante reacted with a terrifying explosion of raw power. He caught Helena by both upper arms. His tattooed fingers dug painfully into the expensive fabric of her formal outfit. With a single, forceful, devastating motion, Dante threw the matriarch violently backward.
Helena flew through the air, her high heels losing complete contact with the floor. She crashed backward into an empty, heavy reception chair. The impact knocked the wind entirely out of her lungs. She slumped into the upholstery, gasping for air, her elaborate jewelry rattling against her collarbone.
There was no dialogue. The entire reception hall was dead silent.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted from a formal gathering to an active militarized zone. Four massive white American bodyguards in professional dark suits materialized from the edges of the room. They moved with silent, lethal precision, closing in around Helena’s chair, their hands hovering over the concealed weapons beneath their jackets. They formed an impenetrable wall of muscle, entirely cutting off her escape.
Dante stood perfectly still in the center of the devastation. He kept Lily securely in his left arm, his large hand gently stroking the back of her head to soothe her. He slowly adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, smoothing the fabric of his dark suit. He bent down gracefully, his polished leather shoes creasing as he picked up one of the small brass bells from the floor.
He stood back up, holding the bell between his thumb and forefinger.
Dante looked at the woman gasping in the chair. His breathing was completely controlled, even, and calm. He raised his hand.
Ring.
Dante rang the brass bell exactly once. The sharp, high-pitched chime echoed loudly in the silent room.
The moment the bell sounded, every single bodyguard surrounding Helena took a synchronized, menacing step toward her.
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"Now," Dante growled, speaking through clenched teeth, his voice a lethal, vibrating promise of absolute destruction. "You run."
Helena froze, her face becoming overwhelmingly, intensely frightened.
