Chapter 4
The atmosphere inside the luxury perfume atelier snapped. Lucian Knox, driven by the sheer, primal terror of a cornered animal, realized that words would no longer save him or his sister. Dominic Caradonna had seen the truth, and in their brutal world, treason was met with immediate, merciless execution.
"Give me the picture, Dominic!" Lucian roared, dropping the facade of the polished associate.
Lucian planted his feet and swung a heavy, desperate right hook aimed directly at Dominic’s jaw. The older man was fast, his fist carrying the weight of sheer desperation, but he was fighting a man whose instincts were forged in absolute violence.
Dominic did not flinch. With the effortless, fluid motion of a veteran predator, he merely tilted his head. He slipped the punch by a fraction of an inch, letting Lucian’s fist sail harmlessly past his face, the loose strands of his wavy hair barely shifting from the displacement of air.
Before Lucian could recover his balance, Dominic retaliated. His movement was explosive, a stark contrast to his slow, measured speech. Dominic drove a devastating, thunderous counterpunch directly across Lucian’s face. The sickening crunch of breaking cartilage echoed through the crisp, bright room.
The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted Lucian off his polished leather shoes. He was launched backward, spinning out of control across the crimson carpet. He collided violently with a towering, freestanding scent-blotter display.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy metallic frame of the display folded backward, collapsing into a nearby rolling presentation case. Hundreds of pristine white fragrance cards erupted into the air, fluttering like snow in the brilliant, natural light. Padded fragrance-sample trays flipped open, sending delicate glass vials shattering across the floorboards.
Lucian crashed heavily beside the collapsed, twisted metal equipment, groaning in agony as dark blood poured from his shattered nose, starkly contrasting with his fair, rosy skin. He clutched his face, entirely incapacitated.
There was no dialogue. The violence spoke with absolute, terrifying clarity.
Dominic stood in the center of the wreckage, his breathing perfectly even. He slowly lowered his tattooed fist, flexing his fingers as he adjusted the cuffs of his unbuttoned shirt. He looked down at the bleeding man on the floor, his cold, sharp eyes devoid of any pity.
The white American bodyguards stationed around the room did not move to intervene. They stood like statues, their hands resting near their concealed weapons, entirely loyal to the towering, handsome Mafia Boss who had just dismantled a traitor with a single strike.
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Margaret shielded Ava, pulling the three-year-old girl’s face into her cardigan so she would not see the blood pooling on the pristine floor.
Dominic turned his back on Lucian’s groaning form and slowly locked his intimidating gaze back onto his fiancée. The crisp, diamond-clear light of the skylights seemed to spotlight the absolute terror blooming on Valeria’s flawless face. The man she had intended to marry was no longer a partner; he was an executioner.
