Chapter 5
Marcus, realizing that words would no longer save him, reverted to the brutal violence that had earned him his rank in the Hale family. He squared his shoulders, his tailored wedding suit stretching tight across his back.
"I don't need to frame you, you crazy bitch!" Marcus spat. "I'm going to finish what we started right now!"
Marcus swung first. He threw a heavy, looping right hook aimed directly at Valentina’s jaw, putting all two hundred pounds of his weight behind the punch.
He severely underestimated the woman who ruled the Moretti syndicate.
Valentina did not flinch. Moving with a fluid, terrifying grace, she slipped outside the punch, letting Marcus’s fist sail harmlessly past her cheek. She pivoted on her wet heel, channeling the momentum of his missed strike. With pinpoint, devastating accuracy, she drove one explosive, open-handed counterpunch directly across his face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed across the terrace. The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted Marcus slightly off his feet.
Marcus spun violently backward, completely out of control. He flew across the wet tiles and crashed directly into the rolling cocktail station.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy metal station rocketed sideways upon collision. Silver ice buckets, filled to the brim, crashed heavily across the tiles, sending cubes of ice skittering like diamonds in the bright cinematic light. Plastic champagne flutes exploded from their tiered racks, raining down in a chaotic shower. Thousands of folded cocktail napkins burst into the air, fluttering down like a bizarre, localized snowstorm over the wreckage.
Marcus collapsed through the folding lower shelves of the station, his body tangling in the twisted metal and ruined champagne. He hit the ground with a heavy, wet thud and did not move again. Blood pooled slowly beneath his face, mixing with the spilled alcohol and melted ice.
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There was no dialogue. The guests gasped and backed away, horrified by the sudden, absolute destruction.
Valentina stood amidst the falling napkins, her chest heaving slightly. She adjusted the heavy family signet ring on her finger, her breathing returning to a slow, controlled rhythm. She did not even look at the broken man lying in the wreckage of the cocktail station. Her attention was already shifting to the next threat.
