Chapter 4
The bright, natural sunlight of the garage offered no shadows for the cruelty to hide. Carmine closed the distance with terrifying speed, bypassing the shattered ceramic plate and the ruined food on the floor. He ignored Helena entirely, dropping down to one knee right into the soapy, freezing puddle. His expensive tailored trousers soaked up the dirty water, but the Mafia boss did not care.
"Leo," Carmine murmured. His voice, usually a weapon of cold terror, dropped into a low, fiercely protective paternal warmth.
"Daddy," Leo sobbed, his small, trembling hands reaching out.
Carmine immediately reached forward and lifted Leo safely to his feet, pulling the shivering three-year-old away from the cold floor. He wrapped his large, powerful hands around his son's small arms, stabilizing him. Carmine looked down and saw the soaking wet cleaning cloth still clutched in Leo's grip.
With profound, heartbreaking gentleness, Carmine reached out and removed the wet cloth from his son’s tiny hands, tossing it carelessly onto the concrete. He pulled Leo against his chest, shielding the boy's filthy, torn clothes with his dark three-piece suit.
"I've got you," Carmine whispered to his son, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles ticked visibly beneath his fair skin.
He slowly stood up to his full, imposing height, keeping Leo securely behind his leg. He turned his head, his cold, intimidating eyes locking onto Helena. The terrifying, deadly stillness of a veteran executioner radiated from his deeply masculine frame.
Helena, completely blind to the lethal danger she was in, let out a short, dismissive sigh. She casually raised her hand, the luxury car key fob dangling from her manicured fingers, the diamonds on her wrist catching the bright video colors of the room.
"You coddle him too much, Carmine," Helena said, her American accent dripping with aristocratic boredom. She gestured toward the gleaming blue sedan. "He was running around the garage and he scratched my car. I told you, he needs boundaries."
Carmine stared at her, his expression utterly blank.
"You put my son... in torn rags," Carmine said. He spoke incredibly slowly, with controlled, terrifying pauses between his words. "You forced him... onto his knees."
"He scratched my car," Helena repeated, her voice rising defensively as she sensed the sudden, suffocating drop in the room's atmosphere. She lifted her chin, staring defiantly at the leader of the syndicate. "He pays for it."
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"He pays for it," Carmine echoed softly, the words barely a whisper.
Maria, the estate maid, scrambled backward across the floor, sensing the apocalyptic violence that was about to erupt. She pulled her knees to her chest, terrified to even breathe.
