Chapter 4
The sudden movement from the former matriarch sent a shockwave through the room. Lorraine lunged for the camera, desperate to destroy the digital evidence of her lie. Adrian stumbled backward, holding his expensive equipment tightly against his chest, his eyes wide with fear.
"Get back, Lorraine," Roman warned, his voice low but cutting through the air like a razor.
Before Roman could physically intercept his mother, another figure stepped aggressively into the fray. Gavin Valenti, Roman’s thirty-eight-year-old younger cousin and a ruthless Mafia-family associate, moved with sudden, explosive speed. Gavin wore an expensive tailored suit, his fair skin flushed with arrogant adrenaline. He was fiercely loyal to the old ways, and fiercely loyal to Lorraine.
Gavin stepped directly between Roman and Adrian, his polished leather shoes planting firmly on the marble floor.
"That is enough, Roman!" Gavin barked, his American accent loud and commanding.
Without warning, Gavin shoved Roman hard in the chest with both hands.
The bodyguards in the room instantly drew their weapons, the metallic clatter of slides racking echoing through the portrait hall.
"Stand down!" Roman roared, raising a single, tattooed hand to halt his men. He did not stumble from the shove. His broad, muscular chest absorbed the impact as if Gavin had pushed a brick wall.
"You don't talk to her like that in front of the men," Gavin spat, his eyes blazing with furious indignation. He pointed a finger at the photographer. "Delete them. This stays in the family."
"I... I can't do that, sir," Adrian stammered, backing further away.
"Do it, or I'll break your damn neck!" Gavin shouted, taking a step toward the photographer.
Roman moved with terrifying, fluid grace. He reached behind his back, his hand closing gently but firmly over Maisie's small shoulder. With a smooth, sweeping motion, he shifted his four-year-old daughter safely behind the massive frame of his lead bodyguard, Vincent.
"Keep her... completely out of sight," Roman ordered Vincent quietly.
"Yes, Boss," Vincent replied, turning his back to shield the weeping child entirely from the escalating violence.
Roman turned his attention back to his cousin. The unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt shifted as he rolled his shoulders. His cold, sharp eyes locked onto Gavin, measuring the man’s pulse, his stance, and his fatal arrogance.
"You put your hands... on me," Roman whispered, his volume so low it was barely audible over the gasps of the surrounding guests.
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"Someone has to remind you who built this family!" Gavin yelled, emboldened by his own misplaced rage. "You care more about a crying kid and a photographer than the respect of your own mother!"
Gavin, blinded by a toxic mixture of pride and adrenaline, threw the first punch. He drove a heavy, closed fist directly toward Roman's face, fully intending to knock the Mafia Boss to the marble floor and assert his dominance in front of the entire syndicate.
