Chapter 4
Marco Vale rushed furiously from the nearby utility room. At forty-two, Marco was Mara’s older brother and a high-ranking associate within the Mafia family. He wore a dark, tailored suit, a luxury wristwatch, and polished leather shoes. His fair, rosy face was twisted into a mask of aggressive, desperate panic. He saw Ryan standing over the child and realized their deeply buried secret had just been unearthed.
Without a word of warning, Marco charged forward. He violently shoved Ryan in the chest with both hands, driving the Mafia boss back against the wainscoting.
"Back off, Ryan!" Marco roared, his American accent loud and abrasive.
Before Ryan could regain his balance, Marco pulled his right arm back and threw a heavy, desperate punch. His knuckles grazed across Ryan’s cheek, leaving a faint red mark on the fair skin.
Ryan did not flinch. He slowly turned his head back to look at his brother-in-law, his dark eyes entirely devoid of fear or shock.
"You hit me," Ryan stated, his voice a low, vibrating hum of impending death.
"Some secrets were supposed to stay inside that wall," Marco mocked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, raising his fists in a boxing stance. "You shouldn't have come out of your office. Now we have to clean up this mess."
"The only thing. Being cleaned up today. Is you," Ryan replied slowly.
Marco swung again, throwing his entire body weight into a massive, sweeping right hook aimed directly at Ryan’s jaw.
Ryan’s movements were fluid, elegant, and entirely lethal. He slipped smoothly outside the punch, dipping his shoulder with the grace of a professional fighter. Marco’s fist sailed harmlessly through the empty air, throwing the older man completely off balance and leaving his torso entirely exposed.
With blinding speed, Ryan planted his polished leather shoe firmly on the floor. He torqued his powerful, masculine frame and drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch straight across Marco’s face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed loudly through the hallway.
The sheer kinetic force of the strike lifted Marco completely off his feet. He spun violently backward, utterly out of control. He hurtled directly into the freestanding coat-and-linen rack positioned near the hidden wall cavity.
The heavy wooden frame of the rack collapsed instantly under the impact. Folded blankets burst into the air, flying across the polished floor like a chaotic snowstorm. Empty lightweight household baskets tumbled from their upper shelves, bouncing against the walls. Wooden hangers scattered loudly beneath him as Marco crashed brutally through the folding lower support.
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He landed in a crumpled, groaning heap among the ruined linens and splintered wood, entirely incapacitated by a single, flawless strike. Blood poured from his shattered nose onto his dark tailored suit.
No dialogue was spoken. The hallway fell into a stunned, breathless silence. The bodyguards standing at the end of the corridor remained perfectly still, watching their Boss dismantle a senior family associate without breaking a sweat. Ryan slowly lowered his tattooed hands, his breathing even and completely controlled.
