Chapter 4
Nolan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere and feeling the sudden, suffocating weight of Salvatore’s empty stare, panicked. Desperate to maintain the upper hand in front of the assembled capos, he wound up his right arm and swung again, aiming a brutal haymaker at Salvatore’s jaw.
Salvatore’s reaction was a masterpiece of lethal precision.
He didn't block the punch; he simply slipped outside of it. With a fluid, terrifyingly fast motion, Salvatore tilted his head and shifted his weight. Nolan’s fist sailed harmlessly past Salvatore’s ear, throwing Nolan’s entire center of gravity forward.
In the exact same fraction of a second, Salvatore planted his foot and drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch directly across Nolan’s face.
The impact was thunderous. The crack of Nolan’s nose breaking resonated across the bright, sunlit patio. Nolan’s eyes rolled back in his head instantly. The sheer kinetic force of Salvatore’s strike lifted the older man off his feet, spinning his body violently backward.
Nolan flew blindly through the air and crashed directly into the massive hammered-metal ice trough.
The lightweight metal stand buckled and folded sideways under his dead weight with a deafening screech. A tidal wave of crushed ice scattered across the hot stone tiles, glittering like broken glass in the natural sunlight. Dozens of premium bottled waters and champagne magnums spilled over the edge, rolling wildly beneath the long white banquet tables. The kinetic shockwave of the crash clipped the neighboring display; heavy wooden trays slid off their mounts, sending a cascade of fruit raining down onto the patio.
Nolan crashed heavily beside the overturned, hammered-metal frame. He lay perfectly still among the melting ice and rolling bottles, his tailored suit soaked, his fair skin rapidly bruising purple.
There was no dialogue. The forty guests stood frozen in absolute terror, their rosy skin drained of color.
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Salvatore slowly lowered his tattooed fist. He flexed his fingers once, the negative space in the ink expanding and contracting over his knuckles. He did not look down at Nolan’s unconscious body. He did not need to. He simply adjusted the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, the loose strands of his wavy hair settling back over his forehead.
He turned his cold, sharp eyes toward Hattie.
