Chapter 5
The bright, cinematic daylight pouring from the skylights caught the flash of Gavin’s luxury wristwatch as his fist sailed through the air. The strike was fast, fueled by thirty-eight years of simmering jealousy, but to a veteran predator like Roman Valenti, it moved with agonizing predictability.
Roman did not flinch. His devastatingly handsome face remained an unreadable mask of cold stone. With a subtle, effortless shift of his weight, Roman slipped outside the strike. Gavin’s knuckles grazed the empty air just millimeters past Roman’s ear, the momentum pulling the younger cousin entirely off balance and exposing his unprotected jaw.
In a fraction of a second, Roman pivoted on his polished leather shoes. He channeled the sheer, deeply masculine power of his shoulders and drove one explosive, catastrophic counterpunch straight across Gavin’s face.
The heavy family signet ring on Roman’s hand connected with the fair, rosy skin of Gavin’s cheekbone with a sickening, deafening crack.
The immense kinetic force of the blow lifted Gavin completely off his feet. His eyes rolled back in his head instantly, his arms flailing uselessly as he was sent spinning violently backward.
Gavin hurtled through the air, completely out of control, flying directly into the massive, freestanding family-photo backdrop erected in the center of the studio space.
He crashed into the structure with the force of a wrecking ball. The heavy metal frame of the backdrop buckled inward with a horrific screech of tearing aluminum. The massive, seamless studio fabric collapsed entirely over his shoulders like a cheap shroud.
The impact sent a shockwave through the surrounding equipment. Large, heavy framed portraits that had been leaning against the structure tore loose, shattering their protective glass across the polished floorboards. Lightweight decorative frames scattered like shrapnel, bouncing across the room. One of the heavy studio light stands wavered dangerously before tipping over, crashing harmlessly onto the padded equipment cases with a loud, metallic thud.
Gavin hit the floor in a tangled, groaning heap of twisted metal, torn fabric, and broken glass. He lay utterly incapacitated, blood already pooling from a deep laceration on his cheekbone, his expensive tailored suit ruined beneath the collapsed backdrop.
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There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced every single person in the room. The white American guests stared in wide-eyed horror, their rosy cheeks drained of all color.
Roman stood in the center of the wreckage, his chest rising and falling with slow, perfectly controlled breaths. He slowly lowered his tattooed fist, flexing his fingers to ensure the gold ring sat comfortably. He smoothed the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, adjusting his tailored suit jacket with a chilling, casual elegance. He did not even glance at the bleeding man buried in the studio equipment. His dark, intimidating eyes simply shifted, locking back onto the woman who had started it all.
