Marcella Bellandi violently struck six-year-old Vivia across the face, sending the little girl crashing onto the marble floor clutching her late mother’s tattered dress

Marcella hit the floor amidst the chaotic, blinding crash of shattered crystal and spilling champagne. The bright golden liquid pooled around the heavy white silk of her luxurious wedding gown, staining the expensive fabric as she gasped for breath. The sharp, physical shock of Nico’s retaliation left her completely disoriented, her fair, rosy cheeks flushed with humiliation and sudden, agonizing pain.

As she fell backward in a frantic attempt to break her fall, her hand flailed wildly. Her fingers caught the edge of Vivia’s tattered dress. The force of Marcella’s collapsing weight tore a loose, hidden inner seam along the hem of the old garment.

The sound of ripping fabric was accompanied by the clatter of two unexpected objects hitting the floor. A small, black USB drive wrapped tightly in clear plastic, and a meticulously folded handwritten note dropped onto the wet marble, sliding to a halt directly between Nico’s polished leather shoes and Marcella’s sprawling form.

Nico froze. His sharp, imposing features locked entirely onto the objects. His dark suit seemed to absorb the bright light of the room as he stared at the handwriting on the note—he recognized it instantly. It was Elena’s. His late wife’s perfectly looped, elegant script.

"What is that?" whispered one of the nearby guests, a wealthy cousin whose fair skin had gone completely pale.

"Nobody move," commanded a booming, authoritative voice. Rafe Calder, Nico’s forty-five-year-old head of security, stepped out from the shadows of the floral arches. Dressed in a dark professional suit, Rafe’s presence was a physical barricade, his hand resting dangerously close to his concealed weapon.

Marcella’s arrogance vanished in a fraction of a heartbeat. She looked down at the plastic-wrapped USB drive, and the color drained completely from her rosy face. Absolute, naked panic seized her features. She scrambled onto her hands and knees, ignoring the broken glass cutting into her palms, and lunged desperately toward the USB drive.

But Rafe was faster. He stepped forward instantly, driving his heavy leather shoe firmly over the drive, blocking Marcella’s reaching hand.

“Nico… burn it,” Marcella pleaded, her voice a ragged, terrified whisper that barely carried over the murmurs of the shocked crowd. “Please, Nico. Don't look at it. Just burn it right now.”

Nico did not listen. He slowly bent down, his powerful frame casting a long shadow over his sister. He picked up the folded note and the plastic-wrapped USB drive. He turned them over in his large, signet-ringed hand, feeling the weight of the plastic. He slowly looked up, his cold eyes locking onto his sister's terrified face.