Chapter 2
The piercing sound of three-year-old Ava’s scream shattered the polite, refined atmosphere of the luxury perfume atelier. The high-pitched cry echoed off the crisp white walls and the polished glass of the display cases, immediately freezing the blood of every bodyguard and guest in the brightly lit room.
The heavy, frosted-glass double doors of the adjoining private launch room burst open with explosive force. Dominic Caradonna stepped out into the brilliant light. At thirty-two years old, Dominic was breathtakingly handsome, possessing the rugged, flawless features of a movie star combined with the deeply masculine, intimidating aura of a veteran Mafia Boss. His thick, dark, slightly wavy hair was naturally slicked back, but the sudden movement caused a few loose strands to fall effortlessly over his forehead, giving him a charming yet fiercely dangerous look. He had an angular face, a high-bridged nose, and a sharply defined jawline shadowed by extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble.
He was dressed in a pristine white dress shirt, daringly unbuttoned at the chest to reveal a glimpse of his muscular physique, paired with flawlessly tailored dark trousers. His fair, rosy skin served as a perfect canvas for the artistic, refined tattoos that crept up his neck and decorated his hands and fingers. The designs were sharp and deliberate, utilizing negative space so they appeared elegant rather than dense. The neck tattoos were moderate, peaking just above his collar—enough to project lethal danger without masking his handsome features.
Dominic’s cold, sharp eyes instantly assessed the room. He saw his mother kneeling on the crimson carpet, clutching her ribs, and his daughter sobbing in absolute terror.
Without rushing, yet closing the distance with terrifying speed, Dominic stormed across the showroom. His polished leather shoes made no sound on the thick carpet. He reached Margaret, placing a strong, tattooed hand gently beneath her arm to help her stand. With his other arm, he smoothly pulled the weeping Ava safely against his leg, shielding the child with his own body.
"Are you hurt, Mother?" Dominic asked. He spoke slowly, with controlled, deliberate pauses between his words. His volume was extremely low, yet the sheer, icy authority in his crisp American accent made every syllable sound measured, cold, and incredibly dangerous.
"I am fine, Dominic," Margaret breathed, leaning heavily against him, her rosy cheeks drained of color. "But you must look at the floor."
During the violent struggle for the handbag, the clasp had broken open. A small, instant photograph had slipped from the silk lining and fluttered down onto the crimson carpet, landing face-up directly between Dominic and Valeria.
Ava clung to her father’s unbuttoned shirt, her small body trembling violently as tears streamed down her fair, rosy cheeks. She looked up at Dominic, her blue eyes wide with innocent horror.
"Daddy…" Ava cried, her tiny voice breaking the suffocating silence of the room. She pointed a small finger at her father’s fiancée. "Grandma found Valeria kissing a man at the airport."
May you like
The words hung in the bright, cinematic light of the atelier like a suspended blade. Dominic’s expression did not change. He did not yell. He did not visibly react. But the temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero. He slowly shifted his cold, intimidating eyes from his weeping daughter to the small, instant photograph resting on the floor.
"Is that... so," Dominic murmured, the slow, calculated pause in his sentence echoing with lethal intent.
