Chapter 5
Patricia Reynolds stared at the ruined display crates, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Her son was buried under cardboard and splintered wood, his face a bruised and bleeding ruin. The reality of her situation crashed down upon her in the bright, unforgiving daylight.
She was standing in a room surrounded by Caradonna soldiers, having just assaulted the Don's grandson and attempted to pass off forged documents.
Pure, unadulterated panic took over. Her eyes locked onto the forged DNA envelope still resting in Robert Parker’s calm, steady hand. In her frantic mind, that piece of paper was the only physical evidence of her treason. If she could destroy it, she could deny everything.
With a shrill, hysterical cry, Patricia lunged toward the consigliere. Her manicured hands clawed through the air, her luxurious pearl necklace swinging wildly as she tried to rip the manila envelope from Robert’s grip.
Robert took a half-step back, entirely unbothered, because he knew he didn't need to defend himself.
Vincent moved with terrifying, blinding speed. He intercepted Patricia before she could close the distance. His large, powerful left hand shot out, catching her wrist in an iron grip. He violently tore her hand away from Robert, twisting her arm down with enough force to make her shriek in pain.
Without a fraction of a second's hesitation, Vincent’s right arm swung forward.
He delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap across Patricia’s face.
The impact echoed off the glass walls like a thunderclap. The slap spun her entire body around, but Vincent was not finished. Using her momentum, he drove a powerful, perfectly executed front kick directly into her torso.
Patricia rocketed backward across the room, her high heels lifting completely off the floor.
She slammed with catastrophic force into the freestanding birthday-photo wall. The heavy wooden frame folded sideways under her weight with a loud crack. Giant paper ferns tore loose from their moorings. A dozen framed photographs of Ethan’s first three years tumbled face-down, shattering glass across the floor. Stacks of beautifully wrapped gifts burst open, scattering tissue paper and ribbons into the air.
Patricia collapsed heavily beneath the ruined display, groaning in agony as the wooden frame settled over her luxurious outfit. Her pearls had snapped, scattering white beads across the floor like lost teeth.
The room plunged into absolute, dead silence.
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The bodyguards remained motionless, their hands resting near their holsters, watching the matriarch of the Reynolds family writhe in the debris.
Vincent stood over the wreckage. His breathing remained slow, controlled, and deeply intimidating. He slowly raised his hands and brushed the wet garbage off his tailored suit jacket, his eyes never leaving the groveling woman on the floor.
