Chapter 5
Hattie Carbone was trembling so violently that her diamond jewelry rattled against her collarbone. The cruel, mocking laughter she had wielded just minutes ago was entirely gone. Seeing Nolan, her primary muscle, neutralized in less than three seconds broke her nerve completely.
Desperate, panicked, and out of options, Hattie lunged toward the only leverage she had left. She reached out with her manicured hands and grabbed Adelaide’s arm, her nails digging into the soft wool of the elderly woman's elegant cardigan.
"Don't come any closer, Salvatore!" Hattie shrieked, her voice cracking in hysteria. "I swear to God, I'll hurt her! I am your blood! You can't touch me!"
"Let go of my grandmother!" little Ella screamed, pulling uselessly at Hattie’s expensive summer dress.
Salvatore’s face remained a mask of absolute, chilling calm. He closed the distance between himself and his cousin in two long, fluid strides. He did not hesitate. He reached out with his tattooed hand and clamped his fingers around Hattie’s wrist. With a sharp, agonizing twist, he tore her hand away from his mother’s arm.
Hattie gasped in pain, but before she could formulate another threat, Salvatore drew his hand back.
He delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap across her face.
The sound was sharp and echoing, devoid of any mercy. The force of the strike snapped Hattie’s head violently to the side. Her expensive heels twisted on the stone patio, and she was driven backward, her arms flailing wildly as she lost her footing on the scattered ice.
She crashed backward into the stacked fruit display.
The wooden tiers, already destabilized by Nolan’s fall, collapsed completely under her weight. Hundreds of bright oranges, apples, and lemons burst outward, rolling and scattering across the cinematic perfection of the patio. Folded linen napkins tumbled from the adjoining banquet table, fluttering down like surrender flags.
Hattie dropped heavily into the center of the ruined arrangement, her expensive dress stained with crushed fruit juice, a bright red handprint burning across her fair, rosy cheek. She clutched her face, sobbing in humiliated agony, too terrified to even look up.
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Adelaide stood nearby, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The elderly matriarch refused to look at Salvatore, her eyes cast downward in profound, heartbreaking shame. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her frail shoulders, trembling.
There was no dialogue. The only sound was the gentle rustling of the sun umbrellas in the summer breeze, and the muffled, pathetic crying of the cousin who had tried to play God.
