Chapter 7
Alexander moved with a sudden, explosive violence that blurred the bright colors of the ballroom. He didn't issue another warning. His free right hand shot forward, moving faster than the older woman could comprehend. His massive, calloused fingers clamped down over Victoria's forearm like an iron vice.
With one brutal, effortless motion, Alexander forcefully tore Victoria’s hand off Sophia’s wrist. The older woman gasped in pain as her grip was broken, the heavy diamond rings cutting into her own fingers from the sheer force of his grip.
But Alexander wasn't finished.
Dropping her wrist, his hands moved with lethal precision. He grabbed his mother by both shoulders, his strong fingers digging deep into the expensive silk of her sapphire gown. Victoria’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror as she looked up into the face of her son, seeing absolutely no mercy, no hesitation—only the cold, dead eyes of a mob boss executing a traitor.
With a guttural roar of fury, Alexander lifted her slightly off her feet and hurled her violently backward.
Victoria flew through the air, her elegant gown twisting around her legs. She crashed spine-first into the heavy metal banquet trash cart. The impact was deafening. The cart buckled under her weight, sending half-empty trays of caviar, shattered champagne flutes, and heaps of discarded food raining down over her head and shoulders. She collapsed into the mess of garbage, her pearl necklace snapping, sending dozens of white pearls bouncing across the polished marble floor like scattered teeth.
The entire ballroom erupted into chaos. The wealthy family guests screamed and recoiled, stumbling backward in a desperate attempt to put distance between themselves and the violence. Women in expensive gowns covered their mouths in horror, while the men frantically backed away, hands raised.
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Instantly, the two senior bodyguards flanking the doors stepped forward, their hands dropping to the grips of their holstered weapons, unsure if they were supposed to protect the matriarch or flank their resurrected boss.
No dialogue was spoken. The silence that followed the crash was absolute, save for the sound of Victoria gasping for air amidst the trash, and the quiet, terrified sobbing of the little girl safely tucked against Alexander’s broad chest. Alexander slowly turned his head, locking eyes with the two advancing bodyguards. The look he gave them was so filled with lethal promise that both men froze in their tracks, slowly raising their hands and stepping backward into the shadows.
