Chapter 2
"Ethan!" Valentina screamed, the composure of the Mafia boss shattering instantly into the primal terror of a mother.
She lunged forward, her dark-green gown snapping around her legs as she sprinted toward the edge of the pool. The bright, vivid colors of the terrace blurred into a chaotic smear. She could see the disturbed surface of the water where her son had gone under, but before she could dive in to save him, a massive, unyielding force slammed into her back.
Thomas Moretti, her sixty-five-year-old father and the former patriarch of the family, stepped out from behind a decorative wedding lantern. Wearing an expensive formal suit and polished shoes, his fair skin was flushed with exertion as he locked one thick, muscular forearm directly around Valentina’s throat.
"Stop right there, Valentina," Thomas growled, his deep American accent rumbling against her ear as he dragged her violently backward, away from the water’s edge.
Valentina choked, her hands flying up to claw desperately at the thick sleeve of his expensive suit. "Let me go! He’s drowning!" she rasped, kicking her heels against the stone tiles.
Thomas only tightened his hold, cutting off her air supply. His family signet ring pressed brutally against her windpipe. Across the terrace, Vanessa Hale stood near the edge of the pool, laughing openly with several of her loyal wedding guests as they watched the three-year-old struggle beneath the water.
"Are you insane?!" Valentina choked out, her vision beginning to spot with black stars. "He is your grandson!"
"He is a weakness," Thomas mocked, his voice cold and devoid of all paternal warmth. He leaned in closer, ensuring only she could hear his treason. "Every dog knows how to swim. If he’s a true Moretti, he’ll figure it out. If not, the family is better off without your fragile lineage."
"You orchestrated this," Valentina hissed, the horrific realization piercing through her panic. "You aligned with the Hales to break me."
"I am taking back my throne, daughter," Thomas whispered maliciously. "You were never fit to lead these men."
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With the last reserve of oxygen burning in her lungs, Valentina stopped clawing at his arm. She shifted her weight, channeling every ounce of her training and fury. She drove the sharp, spiked heel of her designer shoe downward, stamping with bone-crushing force directly onto Thomas’s polished shoe.
Thomas roared in agony, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second. Valentina twisted her body viciously, slipping beneath his massive arm. She broke free from his chokehold, sprinting the last three yards, and dove headfirst into the deep end of the pool without a single word of hesitation.
