Chapter 5
The sharp, sickening sound of knuckles striking bone echoed off the pristine walls of the private suite. The impact of the blow snapped Rocco’s head forcefully to the side. A dark red mark instantly began to bloom across his fair, rosy cheek, right above his neatly trimmed stubble.
June screamed in horror, covering her mouth with her trembling hands. Lucia let out a sharp, delighted laugh from the doorway, thoroughly enjoying the public humiliation of the man who had ruled their family with an iron fist.
The bright, cinematic lighting of the room cast a harsh glare over the scene, throwing the brutal shift in power into agonizing clarity. Grant Mercer stood over the wheelchair, his chest heaving, rolling his shoulders as he shook out his bruised knuckles. He looked down at the deeply masculine, incredibly intimidating Mafia Boss, absolutely reveling in the perceived weakness of his superior.
"Still pretending you're the man who ran this family?" Grant mocked, his American accent thick with condescending venom. He leaned in closer, his expensive tailored suit practically brushing Rocco’s knees. "You’re nothing but a cripple sitting on a throne, Rocco. The capos are laughing at you behind your back. You can't even defend yourself against a single punch. It's pathetic."
Rocco did not immediately turn his head back. He sat perfectly still in the wheelchair, the taste of metallic copper pooling in his mouth. He slowly closed his eyes, his breathing returning to a slow, methodical, terrifyingly calm rhythm.
"Grant, that is enough," Edwin Cole suddenly spoke up, stepping into the room behind Lucia. The sixty-two-year-old senior estate steward wore a formal house-management suit, his lined face pale with shock. "You cannot strike the Don. The Commission will have your head for this!"
"The Commission knows he is weak!" Grant yelled back at the steward, waving his hand dismissively. "My sister and I have been keeping this syndicate afloat for months while he sits in this room staring at the walls! He is a liability! It is time for a change in leadership!"
"You will hang for treason," Edwin warned, his voice shaking.
"Only if he can stand up and put the noose around my neck," Grant laughed cruelly, turning his attention back to the silent man in the wheelchair. "Isn't that right, Boss? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to run me down?"
Rocco slowly turned his face back toward Grant. His cold, piercing eyes were entirely devoid of human emotion. They were the eyes of an apex predator that had just identified its prey. The tattoos on his neck flexed slightly as his sharply defined jawline locked into stone.
"I am going to remind you," Rocco whispered, his voice incredibly deep and raspy. Every sentence sounded measured, cold, and unspeakably dangerous. "Why they call me the Boss."
Grant’s arrogant smile faltered for just a fraction of a second under the sheer, suffocating weight of Rocco’s gaze. Desperate to reassert his dominance and silence the creeping fear in his gut, Grant pulled his arm back, preparing to deliver a second, devastating blow to Rocco's face.
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"I'll beat that arrogance right out of you," Grant snarled, throwing his entire weight into the swing.
June cried out again, taking a desperate step forward to intervene, but the violent reaction from the wheelchair stopped her dead in her tracks. The crippled king was far from defenseless.
