Chapter 2
The ambient noise of the private dinner masked the subtle, shifting dynamics at the head of the table. Victor paced slowly behind Adrian’s wheelchair, his polished leather shoes clicking a rhythmic, arrogant beat against the hardwood floor. He smiled at a passing guest, projecting the image of a man fully in control of his domain, but his eyes repeatedly darted toward his seated uncle.
"I spoke with the distributors this morning," Victor announced loudly, ensuring the nearby tables could hear him. "They agree that the club requires a modernization of its management structure. We can't rely on old methods when the city is moving forward."
Adrian remained perfectly still, his uninjured left hand resting lightly on the armrest of his wheelchair. The heavy family signet ring gleamed under the warm, airy lighting.
"Do you believe modernization equates to insubordination, Victor?" Adrian asked, his voice maintaining its quiet, dangerous equilibrium.
Victor’s jaw tightened. The subtle challenge in Adrian’s question struck a nerve, stripping away the acting manager's thin veneer of respect. Without warning, Victor stepped forward and violently grabbed the edge of Adrian’s dinner plate. With a sharp, aggressive yank, he pulled the plate away from the edge of the table.
The sudden motion knocked a crusty bread roll off the porcelain. It tumbled through the air and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Adrian did not flinch. He slowly reached toward the table with his uninjured hand, his expression remaining an unreadable mask of cold calculation.
Before Adrian’s fingers could graze the table, Victor’s hand flashed downward. He slapped Adrian across the face.
The sharp, stinging sound of skin striking skin echoed over the dining table. The impact forced Adrian’s head to turn sharply to the side. A heavy, suffocating silence instantly descended upon the room. The clinking of silverware stopped.
Elena froze beside the serving station. Her breath hitched in her throat, her expressive eyes wide with disbelief as she witnessed the ultimate betrayal of the family hierarchy.
Victor leaned down, a cruel, victorious smirk twisting his handsome features. His American accent was thick with venom as he looked at the man who had raised their family to power.
"Old dogs eat off the floor," Victor whispered, his voice loud enough for the surrounding capos to hear.
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The sheer audacity of the act hung in the luminous air. Adrian slowly turned his head back, his neatly trimmed stubble scraping against his collar. A faint redness bloomed on his fair cheek, but his cold, observant eyes revealed no panic—only a terrifying, bottomless wrath.
Elena’s paralysis broke. Her protective instincts, forged through years of loyal service and a quiet, mutual affection for the man in the chair, overrode her fear. She gripped the bread basket and stepped forward.
