Chapter 6
The tension in the brightly lit hallway was an almost physical weight pressing down on the space. Rocco Bellandi stood immovable, his broad shoulders cutting a terrifying silhouette against the vivid, opulent backdrop of his estate. He didn't immediately respond to Bianca’s pathetic, gasping pleas. Instead, he raised his left hand, the gold signet ring catching the light, and gave a single, subtle snap of his fingers.
The response was instantaneous.
From the intersecting corridors, the heavy footfalls of more polished leather shoes echoed in unison. Four more bodyguards emerged, their white American features set in hardened, emotionless masks. They moved with silent, practiced efficiency, joining the first two men.
Within seconds, six massive bodyguards formed an impenetrable, curved line directly behind and around the upholstered hallway bench where Bianca sat trembling. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their dark suits creating a wall of absolute, suffocating confinement.
Bianca’s breath hitched. She looked wildly left and right, her eyes darting between the stone-faced men surrounding her. The elegant, formal dress she wore suddenly felt like a straightjacket. The reality of her situation was crashing down upon her with crushing finality.
Rocco took one slow, measured step forward. His deeply masculine presence dominated the entire corridor.
"You told my son," Rocco began, his voice dead calm, the controlled pauses stretching the tension to its absolute breaking point, "to stand guard at a door."
"I was just... I was trying to teach him discipline, Rocco!" Bianca cried, tears of genuine, unadulterated terror finally spilling over her fair, rosy cheeks. "He is too soft! You spoil him! I was preparing him for your world!"
"You were torturing a three-year-old child... for your own amusement," Rocco corrected her, his volume remaining dangerously low. Every measured syllable sounded cold, sharp, and dripping with lethal intent.
He stared down into her frightened face, his intimidating eyes stripping away every layer of her aristocratic arrogance.
"You wanted a guard," Rocco stated, his voice ringing with absolute, chilling authority. He gestured slightly toward the wall of men surrounding her. "Now you have six."
Bianca’s face became a mask of pure, paralyzing fright. The color drained entirely from her lips. She understood the true, horrific implication of his words. These men were not here to protect her. They were her wardens.
"Rocco, no, please!" Bianca begged, scrambling forward on the bench, but immediately freezing as the two nearest bodyguards simultaneously shifted their weight, blocking her path entirely. "You can't do this to me! My family will ask questions! We have a wedding next month!"
"There is no wedding," Rocco whispered, the finality of his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate or negotiation. "No one leaves this bench. No one speaks to her. If she attempts to stand... break her legs."
May you like
"Understood, Boss," the lead bodyguard replied, his American accent flat and completely devoid of mercy.
Rocco turned his back on her, dismissing her existence entirely. He knelt back down on the bright, patterned rug, returning his full attention to the tiny, shivering boy who was still clutching the heavy metal flashlight in his small hands.
