Chapter 8
The absolute finality of Matteo’s question echoed cleanly off the carved ivory-paneled walls, sealing Adriana’s fate. The grand, luminous dining hall, bathed in the soft elegant warmth of the cascading crystal chandeliers, felt suddenly like a courtroom where a death sentence had just been handed down.
"She is lying to get rid of me!" Adriana cried, tears of panic and frustration finally spilling over her fair cheeks, ruining her pristine makeup. "I am your fiancée! I am the lady of this house! You cannot humiliate me like this over a bruised servant and a spilled drink!"
"Does the title of fiancée grant you immunity from the consequences of striking my blood?" Matteo asked smoothly.
He didn't wait for her pathetic, scrambling answer. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the center of the table. The refined artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he rested his palms on the polished walnut wood.
"Did you truly believe you could brutalize my staff, terrorize my heir, and seamlessly ascend to my side without consequence?" Matteo questioned, his voice carrying a terrifying, unyielding authority.
Adriana opened her mouth, her breath catching audibly in the quiet room. She looked at the towering, deeply masculine Mafia boss, realizing that the formidable intellect she had so arrogantly underestimated had just trapped her perfectly.
"My father will not stand for this insult," Adriana whispered, genuine, unadulterated fear finally bleeding into her eyes as she attempted to leverage her family's political weight.
"Will your father truly care for an insult when he learns his daughter is responsible for assaulting the staff protecting this syndicate's heir?" Matteo asked softly, tilting his head with dangerous curiosity. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective, cruel daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
Adriana’s mouth dropped open. The color drained entirely from her lips. She realized she had absolutely no power left in the room. The alliance was dead, severed by her own psychopathic ambition.
"Get your hands off me!" Adriana screamed as two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward from the shadows and grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed wildly, her sculpted satin gown twisting awkwardly around her legs. "You are choosing a servant and a spoiled brat over a queen! You are a fool, Matteo!"
"Are empires built by men who allow innocent women to be brutalized in their own homes?" Matteo inquired, entirely unaffected by her venom.
He didn't wait for a response. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests.
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"Is this welcome-home dinner concluded?" Matteo asked the room at large.
The question was rhetorical, a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests immediately understood. Chairs scraped softly against the polished marble floors as the most powerful men and women in the American mafia stood up in unison. They didn't speak. They didn't offer their goodbyes or polite pleasantries. They simply turned and began a swift, silent exodus from the luminous dining hall, eager to escape the blast radius of the Boss's impending wrath.
