Chapter 4
Victoria’s fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with the thrill of her own perceived authority. She had spent months playing the role of the loving, submissive partner to secure her place in the Marconi empire. Now that the ring was on her finger, she felt invincible.
"I am not going to ask you again, Margaret," Victoria hissed, stepping closer to the kneeling housekeeper. "Take the plates, take the boy, and get out of my sight. He is making a scene."
"He is crying because you shoved him!" Margaret yelled back, holding Noah tighter. "I am going to find his father!"
"His father is busy with real business," Victoria sneered. She reached down, her manicured hands grasping blindly for Noah’s small arm. "Get up, Noah. Take these plates to the kitchen right now."
Victoria grabbed the three-year-old’s arm, ignoring his terrified shriek, and violently tried to push the heavy stack of porcelain plates back into his tiny hands.
Before the porcelain could touch the boy, a large, heavily tattooed hand clamped down onto Victoria’s wrist.
The grip was like a steel vise. The sheer, crushing pressure made Victoria gasp in sudden, blinding pain.
Raffaele stood beside her. He had crossed the patio without making a single sound. His cold, sharp eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. With a sudden, explosive motion, Raffaele tore Victoria’s hand away from his son. He stepped forward, sweeping Noah safely behind his broad, muscular frame, placing the boy entirely under Margaret’s protection.
"Raffaele!" Victoria gasped, rubbing her bruised wrist, her American accent pitching high with sudden panic. "You startled me. I... I was just trying to help Margaret carry the dishes."
Raffaele did not look at her. He looked over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a gentle, impossibly soft register for his son. "Margaret. Take Noah inside. Bring him to my study."
"Yes, Mr. Marconi," Margaret said, her voice shaking with relief as she gathered the weeping boy into her arms and hurried toward the glass doors.
Raffaele slowly turned his head back to Victoria. The charming, romantic strands of hair falling over his forehead contrasted violently with the murderous, dead-eyed stare he leveled at his fiancée.
"You put your hands on my son," Raffaele said. The words were quiet. Measured. Lethal.
Victoria, realizing her charade was broken, felt a sudden spike of desperate, foolish fury. She straightened her posture, attempting to leverage her position as his future wife.
"He was misbehaving!" Victoria shouted, her face turning an ugly shade of crimson. "He wouldn't give Sophie his chair! You spoil him, Raffaele! He needs to learn that things are changing around here!"
May you like
"Nothing is changing," Raffaele whispered slowly.
"Yes, it is!" Victoria screamed, entirely losing her composure in front of the silent, watching guests. "I am going to be your wife! My daughter comes first after we marry!"
