Chapter 4
The bright, cinematic colors of the reception hall blurred as adrenaline flooded the room. Adrian, realizing that the bodyguards were already shifting to secure the perimeter, pulled Victoria harder, his polished leather shoes scrambling for traction on the marble.
"Out of my way!" Adrian shouted.
Maria Collins was still standing in the center of the floor, directly in his path. Instead of stepping around the housekeeper, Adrian violently shoved Maria aside with his free hand. The forty-year-old woman cried out as she was thrown hard to the ground, her apron tangling around her legs as she hit the stone.
That was the final trigger.
Dante handed Lily to his most trusted lieutenant in one fluid motion. "Keep her safe."
Dante stepped effortlessly into Adrian’s path, blocking them from the grand exit. His deeply masculine, broad-shouldered frame was an impenetrable wall of tailored fabric and lethal intent.
"Move, Dante!" Adrian demanded, dropping Victoria’s wrist and reaching inside his tailored suit jacket, his hand hovering dangerously close to his concealed shoulder holster. "You're letting a maid dictate family business! Get out of my way!"
Adrian tried to force his way past the Don, lowering his shoulder to barrel through his older cousin.
Dante did not flinch. He did not draw a weapon. He relied on the brutal, close-quarters violence that had earned him his throne. As Adrian collided with him, Dante shifted his weight, planting his polished leather shoes firmly on the marble. He drew his right arm back and drove one powerful, devastating punch directly into Adrian’s upper body.
The sickening crunch of the impact echoed over the gasps of the guests. The sheer kinetic force of Dante’s strike lifted the forty-three-year-old capo entirely off his feet.
Adrian flew backward, gasping for air as his ribs cracked under the blow. He crashed violently into an empty, velvet-lined reception chair. The heavy wooden chair tipped backward, sending Adrian sprawling in an undignified, agonizing heap across the floor. He groaned, clutching his chest, entirely incapacitated.
There was no dialogue. The music had stopped long ago. The only sound was Adrian’s ragged, painful breathing.
Instantly, six massive, white American bodyguards in professional suits descended upon the fallen capo. They surrounded Adrian, their hands resting menacingly on the grips of their firearms, forming a circle of absolute, inescapable death.
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Victoria pressed her hands over her mouth, her back hitting the side of the grand piano as she trembled violently. She looked at her fiancé, realizing that the handsome, wealthy man she thought she had manipulated was, in fact, an apex predator.
Dante stood over the wreckage, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his crisp dress shirt. He looked down at his bleeding cousin, and then turned his cold eyes toward his trembling bride.
