Chapter 4
The sound of Richard’s fist colliding with Adrian’s jaw echoed like a gunshot through the silent ballroom. Several guests gasped, and Catherine Hale, Adrian’s thirty-seven-year-old older sister, took a shocked step forward in her elegant formal gown.
Adrian’s head snapped to the side. The impact left a faint red mark on his fair, rosy cheek, contrasting sharply with his dark stubble. He slowly turned his face back to Richard. The movie-star charm was entirely gone, replaced by the terrifying, apex predator of the American underworld.
"You should not have done that, Richard," Adrian whispered, his voice dangerously low.
Richard, emboldened by landing the first strike and desperate to maintain dominance in front of the gathered families, attacked again. He lunged forward, throwing a wild, sweeping hook aimed at Adrian’s temple.
Adrian moved with blinding, explosive speed. He raised his left arm, catching Richard’s forearm and absorbing the momentum of the strike. With a fluid, trained motion, Adrian turned his body through the strike, using Richard's own weight against him. He locked Richard's arm, exposing the older man’s unguarded face.
Without a single moment of hesitation, Adrian drove one explosive, devastating punch directly across Richard’s face.
The sickening crunch of cartilage shattered the quiet of the room. The sheer kinetic force of Adrian’s blow lifted the fifty-eight-year-old capo off his feet. Richard spun violently backward, completely out of control, his arms flailing through the air.
He crashed directly into the massive, decorative wooden seating-chart frame that stood near the entrance.
The heavy wooden frame buckled instantly under his weight. It folded sideways with a loud, cracking splinter. Hundreds of beautifully printed name cards exploded across the pristine marble floor like a sudden snowstorm. Delicate ribbon baskets overturned, scattering silk strands through the air. Gift tags and decorative flowers rained down around the wreckage.
Richard crashed heavily onto the floor, collapsing entirely beneath the broken decorative panels. He lay motionless, groaning in agony, blood pouring from his shattered nose onto his crisp white dress shirt.
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There was no dialogue. The entire wedding party stood in absolute, paralyzed terror. The bodyguards of both the Hale and Ashford families rested their hands on their concealed weapons, waiting for a command, but none dared to move against the Boss of the Hale syndicate.
Adrian slowly lowered his fist. He rolled his broad shoulders, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black tuxedo. He did not even look at the ruined man bleeding on the floor. His cold, intimidating eyes shifted back to Victoria, who was staring at her fallen father in sheer, unadulterated horror.
