Chapter 5
The sunlight pouring through the glass roof seemed to freeze in the air. The bright, vivid colors of the conservatory offered a surreal backdrop to the absolute, terrifying stillness that radiated from Cullen Ravello. He stood perfectly upright, his hands resting at his sides, exuding a masculine authority that made the vast room feel incredibly small.
Chase Mercer, eager to defend his sister and assert his own dominance, stepped aggressively forward. He moved directly between Cullen and Tove, acting as a physical barrier. At forty-two, Chase was older, but he lacked the hardened, lethal edge that Cullen had forged in the underworld.
"I'm talking to you, Cullen," Chase demanded, his American accent loud and grating. He reached out and forcefully shoved Cullen squarely in the chest. "She’s only good at pretending. The kid was faking it. You need to get your house in order and stop letting these women manipulate you."
Cullen did not stumble. He barely shifted his weight. He slowly looked down at the spot on his suit jacket where Chase’s hand had just made contact. He stared at the fabric for three agonizingly long seconds.
"You... put your hands... on me," Cullen whispered. He spoke with controlled pauses, his volume so low that Chase had to lean in to hear him. "In my own home."
"I did what I had to do to get your attention," Chase scoffed, though a flicker of genuine anxiety began to crack his arrogant facade. "Tove is a Mercer. You don't get to look at her like that. We brought three million dollars to this alliance, Ravello. You owe us respect."
"Respect," Cullen repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like poison. He slowly raised his eyes, locking onto Chase’s face. "Is something... you earn. What you have earned... is a very different... kind of payment."
"Cullen, stop being so dramatic!" Tove shouted from behind her brother, her heels clicking nervously against the tile. "Chase is right! You are acting like a lunatic over a broken piece of plastic!"
Cullen ignored her completely. His focus was entirely on the man standing in front of him.
"You have... exactly one second... to step away from me," Cullen stated, the measured, cold delivery of his sentence carrying a promise of catastrophic violence.
"I'm not scared of you, Ravello!" Chase barked, his face flushing a deep, angry red. He puffed out his chest, completely misjudging the situation. "You think because you wear a nice suit you can intimidate me? I've killed men twice your size!"
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"Then you should know," Cullen murmured, his eyes dead and empty, "that size... has absolutely nothing... to do with it."
Chase, blinded by his wounded pride and the need to assert his dominance, made the final, fatal mistake of his life. He pulled his right arm back, balling his hand into a tight fist, and swung a heavy, vicious punch aimed directly at Cullen's sharply defined jaw.
