Chapter 3
The crisp, cinematic light pouring from the glass roof illuminated the towering figure standing in the doorway. It was Cullen Ravello. At thirty-two years old, he was breathtakingly handsome, possessing the rugged, flawless features of a movie star. He exuded a deeply masculine, overwhelmingly intimidating aura that commanded the immediate submission of everyone in the room. His thick, slightly wavy hair was naturally slicked back, with a few loose strands falling perfectly over his forehead, giving him a charming yet dangerously romantic look.
He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit, but his shirt was unbuttoned at the chest, revealing the fair, rosy skin of his collarbone. Artistic, refined tattoos crept up his hands and fingers, utilizing sharp designs and negative space so they appeared elegant rather than dense. He was a veteran Mafia Boss, and the sheer gravity of his presence instantly suffocated the conservatory.
Cullen froze in the doorway. His cold, sharp eyes immediately assessed the scene.
"Cullen, darling," Tove said, her voice instantly changing into a sweet, fabricated purr. "Your mother is just being dramatic again. We were just trying to have a peaceful afternoon."
Cullen did not look at her. His piercing gaze dropped to the floor, landing on his three-year-old daughter. Mireya was on her knees, her face pale and terrified, clutching her throat as she suffocated in the bright sunlight.
"What is going on in here?" Cullen asked. He spoke incredibly slowly, with controlled, deliberate pauses between his words. His volume was terrifyingly low, yet every syllable sounded measured, cold, and immensely dangerous.
"She's having an attack, Cullen!" Margaret screamed from the wicker chair, her voice breaking. "Tove threw her inhaler under the stone table! She pushed me!"
Chase stepped forward, holding his hands up defensively. "Now wait a minute, Cullen. Tove was just trying to stop the kid from making a scene. You know how children exaggerate."
Cullen did not waste a fraction of a second engaging with the Mercers. The moment he processed his mother's words, the elegant, slow-moving Mafia Boss transformed into a blur of desperate, protective action.
He crossed the conservatory in three massive strides, his polished leather shoes silent against the tiles. He dropped to his knees, sliding the last two feet across the floor to reach the heavy stone table. His tattooed fingers reached into the shadows, grasping the plastic inhaler.
He spun around, sliding directly beside his daughter.
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"Daddy is here," Cullen whispered, his voice cracking with a fierce, paternal terror. He pulled Mireya gently into his arms, supporting her small back. "I have it, baby. I have it."
Tove watched from a distance, her arrogant smile faltering slightly at the absolute disregard Cullen showed for her presence. She had never seen the cold, calculating Mafia Boss drop to his knees for anyone.
