Chapter 6
"Get her out of my sight," Alexander commanded, his voice barely rising above a whisper, yet it filled the expansive room with absolute authority.
The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, their massive frames casting shadows over Veronica. One of them firmly grasped her upper arm, his grip unyielding despite the delicate fabric of her white designer dress.
"Don't touch me!" Veronica shrieked, struggling frantically as her high heels slipped on the scattered remains of her shoe rack. She looked back at Alexander, her fair, rosy face twisted into an ugly mask of desperation and rage. "You are making a massive mistake, Alexander! My family will not let this insult stand! The Hayes syndicate will burn your operations to the ground!"
"Let them try," Alexander replied coldly, not even bothering to look at her as she was dragged backward toward the hallway. "You have nine minutes."
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind her, instantly cutting off her hysterical screaming.
The sudden silence in the bright, cinematic dressing room was deafening. Alexander stood still for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as he forced the lethal, violent adrenaline back down into the dark corners of his mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, before turning his attention back to the only thing in the world that mattered.
"Sofia," Alexander murmured softly, the harshness completely vanishing from his deep, raspy voice.
He knelt on the pristine marble floor, completely ignoring the splinters of wood and scattered designer shoes. Sofia peeked out from behind his legs, still wrapped tightly in his oversized, dark suit jacket. Her bright blue eyes were rimmed with red, her tiny hands still stained with thick, greasy black shoe polish.
"Is the mean lady gone?" Sofia whispered, her American accent trembling with residual fear.
"Yes, piccola. She is gone," Alexander assured her, reaching out to gently cup her tear-stained cheek with his tattooed hand. "She is never, ever coming back."
"I got your shirt dirty, Daddy," Sofia sniffled, looking down at the dark smears of shoe polish she had left on his crisp, unbuttoned white dress shirt.
Alexander let out a soft, genuine exhale that almost sounded like a laugh. "I have a hundred shirts, Sofia. I only have one of you."
He gently scooped the three-year-old up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly against his chest. The contrast between the dangerous, tattooed Mafia boss and the incredibly tender, protective father was stark and profound in the bright, natural light.
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"Let's get this polish off your hands," Alexander said, carrying her out of the ruined dressing room and toward the massive en-suite bathroom. "And then, we are going to have a very serious conversation with the people who work in this house."
The danger had been expelled, but Alexander’s mind was already racing. Veronica had not dressed Sofia in that maid uniform alone. Someone on his payroll had allowed it to happen. And Alexander Vaughn was going to find out exactly who.
