Chapter 4
The heavy silence in the bridal suite was violently shattered by the sound of a key grinding aggressively in the deadbolt. Someone was on the other side of the heavy mahogany door, impatient and angry.
"Trent? Unlock this door immediately!" a harsh, gravelly voice barked from the hallway. "The string quartet has been playing the same prelude for fifteen minutes. The guests are whispering!"
Trent, still sprawled on the velvet sofa and clutching his aching chest, tried to call out, but all that escaped his lips was a weak, pathetic wheeze.
The door handle rattled violently, and then the deadbolt clicked open. Victor stepped into the bridal suite, bringing an aura of oppressive, old-world arrogance with him. At sixty-six, Victor was a hardened, ruthless patriarch. He wore a classic charcoal morning suit that bespoke generational wealth, complete with a silver vest, a pocket watch chain draped perfectly across his abdomen, a heavy gold signet ring, and polished leather oxfords.
Victor marched into the room, ready to berate his son, but he froze halfway across the Persian rug. The scene before him scrambled his mind.
His son, the heir to his criminal empire, was a gasping, disheveled mess on the sofa. Standing over him, looking absolutely flawless in her ivory lace gown, was Nia. And in her elegant, manicured hand, she held a solid metal golf club.
Victor’s fair face instantly flushed with indignant fury. He fundamentally misunderstood the dynamic in the room, assuming Nia had somehow caught Trent off guard with a lucky strike during a lovers' quarrel. His ego could not process the reality of her dominance.
"What in the hell is going on in here?" Victor bellowed, his voice vibrating with absolute rage. He pointed an angry, trembling finger directly at Nia's face. "Have you lost your mind, girl?"
"Dad... wait," Trent managed to croak out, struggling upright on the sofa, his eyes wide with a warning his father was too blind to read. "She's... she's not who we thought."
"Shut up, Trent," Victor snapped, completely dismissing his son. He took a threatening step toward Nia, trying to use his physical presence to intimidate her into submission. "I don't care what kind of pre-wedding panic you are having, you do not raise a hand to a member of my bloodline. You are a guest in my world."
Nia looked at Victor, her expression completely unchanged. She did not flinch away from his pointing finger. She merely tilted her head slightly, studying him with the detached curiosity of a predator observing a particularly loud, annoying insect.
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"Put that club down right now," Victor ordered, his voice booming with the furious authority he used to run his illicit businesses. "You are marrying into my family, Nia. And in my family, women know their place. You will drop that weapon, you will fix your makeup, and you will walk down that aisle, or I promise you, I will ruin your entire life before the sun goes down."
Victor crossed his arms, waiting for the capitulation he had commanded from everyone around him for the last forty years.
