Chapter 3
Bennett moved with explosive, terrifying speed.
He rushed across the service hall, his polished leather shoes closing the distance in three massive strides. He bypassed Miranda entirely, dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor right in front of the children. His massive, tattooed hands grabbed the handles of the three rolling suitcases, violently pulling them to a dead stop.
"I've got you," Bennett murmured. He spoke slowly, with controlled pauses between his words. His volume was incredibly low, yet the measured, cold cadence carried an absolute, dangerous promise of protection. "No one. Is taking you. Anywhere."
He reached for the heavy buckle digging into Milo’s small wrist, his fingers working to release the nylon strap.
"Don't touch them!" Miranda shrieked, panic entirely overwriting her aristocratic composure.
She lunged forward, placing herself physically between Bennett and the children. In her trembling hand, she still held a crystal glass of red wine she had taken from the ballroom. With a vicious, desperate swing, she threw the contents of the glass directly across Bennett’s face.
The dark red wine splashed violently against his fair, rosy skin, staining his unbuttoned dress shirt and dripping into his thick, wavy hair.
Before Bennett could react to the liquid, Miranda pulled her arm back and delivered a ringing, desperate slap across his cheek. The sound echoed sharply off the paneled walls.
"You don't get to play the hero!" Miranda spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "You abandoned them. You spend your life managing your syndicates and your soldiers. So don’t pretend to care now. They are better off far away from this estate!"
Bennett did not flinch. He remained on one knee, the dark red wine dripping from his sharply defined jawline and soaking into the extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble on his face. He slowly raised his tattooed hand and wiped the wine from his cold, intimidating eyes.
He looked up at her, completely unfazed by the physical strike.
"You think. You can sell my blood. Because I work?" Bennett asked, his voice remaining a lethal, quiet whisper. Every sentence he spoke sounded measured and terrifyingly dangerous.
"I am securing my own future!" Miranda yelled, stepping backward as the sheer force of his glare began to paralyze her. "You give me nothing but a title! The buyers are offering fifty million dollars, Bennett! Fifty million for the heirs to the Ferrante empire!"
"Buyers," Bennett repeated slowly, the word tasting like venom on his tongue.
Milo whimpered, pressing his face against his father's broad shoulder. Bennett wrapped his free arm around the boy, keeping him shielded. He slowly stood up, towering over his wife. The bright, cinematic lighting of the service hall caught the wine staining his clothes, making him look like a demon who had just waded through a battlefield.
May you like
"I am going. To tear you. Apart," Bennett promised, the volume of his voice barely above a breath.
Before Miranda could scream for help, heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from the direction of the open ballroom doors, signaling that her violent accomplice had finally arrived to intervene.
