Chapter 3
Damon stepped smoothly around Marcus, positioning his broad, tailored frame squarely between the Caldwell siblings and the pregnant woman weeping in the mud. His black overcoat presented an impenetrable wall.
"What do you think you're doing?" Vanessa demanded, taking a surprised step back, her heels slipping on the grass. "This is a private family matter!"
Damon did not look at her. He briefly glanced down at Grace, his eyes tracking the blood on her lip and the protective way her hands shielded her rounded belly. A dark, dangerous fire ignited in his gaze, though his handsome face remained entirely composed.
Marcus Caldwell’s face flushed a deep, rosy red. Insulted that a stranger had intervened, the thirty-eight-year-old man puffed out his chest, stepping aggressively toward the Mafia Boss. He clearly did not recognize the man standing before him.
"Hey! Are you deaf?" Marcus barked, his voice loud and arrogant.
Marcus stepped forward and contemptuously shoved Damon squarely in the chest with both hands.
Damon’s heavy overcoat barely shifted. He did not yield a single inch. He slowly turned his head, locking his cold, unblinking eyes onto Marcus.
"You are making a mistake," Damon said. His voice was a low, resonant rumble, an American accent dripping with lethal restraint.
"The only mistake here is you getting involved," Marcus sneered.
Driven by the blind hubris of a politician's son, Marcus suddenly pulled his arm back and drove a hard, heavy punch directly across Damon’s jaw.
The impact made a dull, heavy thud. Damon staggered exactly one step sideways, his polished leather shoe sliding against the stone path. He slowly straightened his neck, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek. The bright, cinematic lighting highlighted the utter lack of fear on his face.
Marcus let out a short, mocking laugh, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive dark suit.
"Walk away, dock thug," Marcus mocked, his tone laced with absolute superiority. "This is Caldwell business. You don't want to get involved with us."
"Caldwell," Damon repeated softly, testing the name on his tongue as if deciding how to destroy it. "I know your father. He is a parasite. And clearly, the rot runs deep in the bloodline."
"You son of a bitch," Marcus snarled, his face twisting with rage. "I'll teach you to speak to me like that."
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Grace let out a terrified gasp from the ground. "Damon, watch out!"
But Damon did not need a warning. He had simply allowed Marcus the first strike to establish the rules of engagement. Now, the execution was set to begin.
