Chapter 3
The brilliant light of the pavilion offered no shadows to hide the violence that was about to erupt. Selene Caruso stood perfectly still under Troy’s aggressive grip. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, the absolute lack of fear in her gaze causing a flicker of unease to cross his handsome, arrogant face.
"Let go of me, Troy," Selene warned softly, the words slipping out with a measured, lethal calm.
"Or what?" Troy sneered, his grip tightening as he tried to physically assert his dominance. "You're going to throw a tantrum at a children's party?"
Without a fraction of a second of hesitation, Selene executed a sharp, violent twist of her shoulder. Utilizing the leverage of her stance, she effortlessly broke Troy’s hold, pulling her arm completely free.
Humiliated by her physical dismissal in front of his mother and sister, Troy’s temper flared. Blinded by his wounded pride, he pulled his right arm back and threw a heavy, uncalculated punch aimed directly at Selene’s face.
He expected her to flinch, to cower as a civilian would. He completely underestimated the woman who had fought her way to the top of a mafia syndicate.
Selene did not panic. With the fluid, terrifying grace of a trained combatant, she slipped her head to the outside. Troy’s fist sailed harmlessly through the bright air, inches past her ear. The momentum of the missed strike pulled his body forward, leaving the entire left side of his jaw completely exposed.
Planting her polished leather shoe firmly on the pristine floor, Selene pivoted her hips and countered with a devastating, explosive right cross.
The heavy gold family signet ring on her hand connected directly with Troy’s cheekbone with a sickening, resounding crack.
The immense, kinetic force of the blow lifted the thirty-eight-year-old man off his expensive loafers. He was sent spinning violently backward, completely out of control. He hurtled across the pavilion floor, crashing heavily into the wheeled wrapping cart positioned near the gift table.
The impact was catastrophic. The cart buckled, its wheels skidding aggressively against the mahogany legs of the gift table. Massive spools of vibrant red and gold ribbon were launched into the air, unspooling wildly and rolling rapidly across the floor. Troy dropped hard beside the collapsed cart, gasping for air as sheets of pristine white tissue paper fluttered down, sliding mocking over his shoulders and chest like a cheap shroud.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced the entire room.
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Opal gasped, pressing a hand to her pearl necklace, taking a stumbling step backward until she hit the padded bench. Keira’s jaw dropped in absolute shock, staring at her brother who lay bleeding on the floor among the ribbons.
Selene stood in the center of the wreckage, her breathing perfectly even, her tailored pantsuit completely unruffled. She slowly lowered her fist, flexing her fingers to ensure the signet ring sat comfortably. She had not even broken a sweat. The message was clear: she was not a bride to be managed; she was the reigning monarch of her empire.
