Chapter 5
The spell of absolute silence was broken by a shrill, hysterical scream.
"You bastard!" Caroline shrieked.
Abandoning her expensive dinner dress and her refined composure, Caroline leapt from her chair. Her fair skin was flushed a deep, violent red with rage. Seeing her mother crumpled on the floor amongst the silver serving domes destroyed the last remnants of her self-preservation. She stormed toward Roman, her high heels clicking frantically across the hardwood floor.
"You don't touch her!" Caroline roared.
Without a moment of hesitation, she pulled her arm back and swung wildly at Roman’s face, aiming her heavy, diamond-encrusted rings directly at his eyes.
Roman did not flinch. His reaction was a display of flawless, lethal athleticism. He smoothly dipped his shoulder, slipping the frantic strike with millimeter precision. Caroline’s fist sailed harmlessly through the empty air, the momentum throwing her completely off balance and leaving her torso entirely exposed.
Using her forward momentum against her, Roman planted his polished leather shoe and drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch straight across Caroline’s face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed over the dining table. The sheer power of the blow sent Caroline spinning violently backward. She flew across the Persian rug, hurtling directly into the massive, freestanding wine-storage rack positioned near the archway.
The collision was spectacular. Caroline crashed into the heavy wooden structure, her weight buckling the lower supports. The upper shelves tilted violently forward. Dozens of corked, expensive vintage wine bottles rolled from their slots, dropping to the floor and shattering in a symphony of breaking glass and spilling red liquid. Empty wooden presentation boxes burst open, splintering across the carpet. The wooden dividers of the rack collapsed completely under the stress.
Caroline crashed onto the carpet beneath the fallen rack, buried under a cascade of rolling bottles and splintered wood. She groaned, clutching her ruined face, blood seeping through her fingers and staining her expensive dress.
Sophia screamed from the table, jumping out of her chair and backing away in pure terror.
Roman slowly turned his head, his thick, wavy hair remaining perfectly styled despite the intense violence. He looked around the room, his intimidating eyes locking onto the heavily armed bodyguards.
"Does anyone else. Have an opinion. On how I raise my son?" Roman asked. His voice remained incredibly low, measured, and dangerously calm.
"No, Boss," the lead capo replied instantly, bowing his head, his American accent stripped of all bravado. "No one."
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"Good," Roman whispered.
He reached down and gently picked up Milo, who had kept his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears just as he was told. Roman lifted the three-year-old into his strong, heavily tattooed arms, completely shielding the boy from the wreckage of the wine rack and the trolley. The bright, cinematic lighting cast a heroic, yet terrifying glow over the Mafia boss as he stood victorious amid the total destruction of his treacherous family members.
