Chapter 3
Conrad’s fair skin flushed a deep, ugly red as the humiliation of Domenico’s public dressing-down settled in. Surrounded by the elite members of the family and their bodyguards, his fragile ego fractured completely. Acting on a surge of blind, desperate adrenaline, Conrad shifted his weight and reached down, fully intending to grip the heavy steel landscaping rod with both hands to assert his dominance.
Domenico did not give him the chance.
With a movement so fluid and precise it looked choreographed, Domenico lashed out with his polished leather shoe. He kicked the heavy steel rod squarely in the center, sending it flying out of Conrad’s grasp. The metal clattered violently across the stone pathway, spinning away into the grass.
Before Conrad could even process that he had been disarmed, Domenico lunged forward. Using his free hand, the Mafia boss caught Conrad violently by the collar of his expensive casual shirt and the lapel of his jacket. The sheer, overwhelming physical strength of Domenico was absolute. He lifted his cousin slightly onto his toes and forcefully shoved him backward with terrifying momentum.
Conrad stumbled wildly, his loafers dragging across the grass. He crashed hard into an empty, heavy wooden lawn chair. The chair skidded backward from the impact, and Conrad collapsed into it awkwardly, his breath expelled in a loud, painful gasp.
Every single guest in the backyard fell entirely silent. The clinking of champagne glasses ceased. The low hum of American accents vanished. The only sound was the distant, cheerful chirping of summer birds, blissfully unaware of the violence that had just erupted.
"What are you doing?" Miriam shrieked, breaking the silence as she took a horrified step backward, her pearl jewelry rattling against her chest. "Are you insane, Domenico?"
Immediately, two massive white American bodyguards in sharp, dark suits stepped out from the crowd. They moved with silent, military precision, stepping directly behind the lawn chair where Conrad sat gasping, and flanking Miriam to block any potential retreat.
Domenico stood tall, the elegant tattoos on his neck flexing as he maintained his iron grip around his weeping son. He did not look at his bodyguards. He did not look at the shocked crowd. He raised his free hand, the heavy signet ring catching the bright sunlight, and pointed a single, steady finger directly toward the heavy iron gates of the estate.
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"You wanted to teach my son a lesson about fear," Domenico said. His voice was a low, menacing rumble, every word carefully measured, cold, and unspeakably dangerous. "Good. Then I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget."
Miriam froze completely, her rosy skin draining to a sickly, pale white as she realized the catastrophic mistake they had just made.
