Chapter 5
The silence that blanketed the garden patio was absolute and suffocating. Dozens of elite guests, hardened capos, and professional bodyguards stood completely frozen in the bright cinematic sunlight, waiting for the explosion.
Victoria’s chest heaved. The echo of her own arrogant words hung in the air, and for a fleeting second, the sheer magnitude of her mistake seemed to register in her eyes. But her pride refused to let her back down. She took a step toward the glass doors where Noah had disappeared, driven by some frantic need to assert her dominance over the situation.
"I am going to go talk to him right now," Victoria demanded, reaching her hands out to push past Raffaele.
It was the final, fatal error.
As Victoria reached toward the space where Noah had just been, Raffaele moved with the blinding, violent speed of an apex predator. He caught both of her forearms in mid-air. His tattooed fingers dug painfully into her fair skin, locking her arms together in an inescapable grip.
"Raffaele, let me go!" Victoria shrieked, struggling frantically against his iron hold.
Raffaele didn't utter a single syllable. He twisted his torso, effortlessly turning her away from the direction of the glass doors. With one fluid, forceful motion, he pushed her backward across the stone terrace.
Victoria stumbled in her high heels, her elegant formal dress twisting around her legs. She flew backward and crashed heavily against the padded, velvet-lined garden divider that separated the terrace from the lawn. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs, and she slumped against the barrier, gasping for air, her diamond jewelry clattering loudly.
Instantly, two massive white American bodyguards in professional dark suits stepped out from the shadows of the awning. They moved in perfect unison, placing themselves directly between Victoria and the glass doors leading to the house, forming an impenetrable human wall to ensure she could never take another step toward Noah.
There was no dialogue. The orchestra had stopped playing. The birds seemed to have stopped singing.
Raffaele stood in the center of the terrace, his unbuttoned shirt exposing the intricate, sharp tattoos on his chest and neck. He slowly adjusted his cuffs, his breathing perfectly even, as if he had merely brushed a piece of lint from his jacket.
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He walked slowly toward the garden divider where Victoria was pinned. His polished shoes clicked methodically against the stone.
Victoria stared up at him, her rosy skin entirely drained of color. The terrifying reality of who she was dealing with—not a wealthy businessman, but a ruthless Mafia boss who commanded an army of killers—finally crushed her arrogant spirit. She shrank back against the velvet padding, trembling uncontrollably.
