Chapter 2
The heavy, suffocating silence that instantly swept through that corner of the bright ballroom was far louder than the sharp crack of the slap. Conversations died in the throats of the surrounding guests. Men in expensive tuxedos and women in vibrant, colorful gowns froze, their fair, rosy faces turning toward the head table in absolute shock.
Nico Bellandi was already seated at the head of the bridal table. At forty-two, he radiated a deeply masculine, terrifying power that commanded the entire syndicate. He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit that stood in stark, intimidating contrast to the bright whites and pastels of the room. A crisp dress shirt, a heavy gold signet ring, and a luxury wristwatch completed the image of an undisputed Mafia boss. His fair skin was usually composed, but as he witnessed his sister strike his child, his rosy complexion drained into a mask of chilling, lethal calm.
He slowly pushed his chair back. The scrape of the wooden legs against the marble sounded like a gunshot. He rose to his full, imposing height, his polished leather shoes stepping deliberately around the table.
Vivia, crying softly, scrambled across the bright marble floor. She crawled frantically toward the towering figure of her father, her small hands reaching out until she gripped the dark, crisp fabric of his trouser leg.
“Mom said never let them take this dress,” Vivia sobbed, her voice breathless and fractured with pain, her rosy cheek bearing the bright red outline of Marcella’s hand. “She promised me, Daddy. She promised.”
“I know, sweet girl. I know,” Nico murmured. His American accent was remarkably soft when he spoke to his daughter, yet it carried a dangerous, vibrating undercurrent. He knelt slightly, his large hand resting protectively over Vivia’s trembling shoulder.
"Nico, don't indulge her," Marcella demanded, trying to maintain her arrogant posture, though a flicker of genuine fear now danced in her eyes. "She is acting like a spoiled brat. You need to discipline your child before she ruins the rest of this wedding."
"You put your hands on my daughter," Nico said, his voice deadly and quiet, rising back to his feet.
"I am trying to teach her respect!" Marcella fired back, taking a stubborn step forward, her heavy wedding gown dragging across the floor. "She needs to learn her place in this family hierarchy!"
May you like
Marcella foolishly reached for Vivia again, her manicured hand stretching out to grab the child’s shoulder and pull her away.
Nico moved with the blinding, explosive speed of a apex predator. He caught Marcella’s wrist mid-air, his grip crushing her bones like a vice. With a swift, forceful yank, he pulled Vivia safely behind his legs. Then, pivoting his shoulder, Nico delivered one brutal, open-handed slap across Marcella’s face. The impact was devastating. Her head snapped violently sideways, her perfectly styled hair coming undone. She staggered backward, losing her footing entirely, and crashed heavily into the wedding table. A towering pyramid of bright crystal champagne glasses shattered around her, raining shards and golden liquid across the pristine marble.
