Chapter 7
The air in the portrait hall was thick with the smell of expensive cologne, ozone from the shattered studio lights, and the metallic tang of blood. The bright cinematic lighting offered no shadows for the fallen to hide in, exposing their total humiliation to the paralyzed crowd of relatives and capos.
Roman Valenti stood in the center of the devastation. He was furious beyond measure, an apocalyptic rage burning in his chest, yet his exterior remained a portrait of terrifying calm. His thick, slightly wavy hair was perfectly in place, the few loose strands over his forehead belying the monster that had just been unleashed. His sharply defined jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles ticked visibly beneath his fair, rosy skin.
He slowly reached into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved a pristine white linen handkerchief. He methodically wiped his knuckles, though there was no blood on them, his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate.
He dropped the handkerchief onto the floor. He slowly raised his cold, intimidating eyes, looking from the groaning Gavin beneath the metal frame to his mother trembling among the scattered photo albums.
"You thought," Roman began, speaking so slowly that every single syllable felt like a physical weight pressing down on the room, "that you could harm my daughter... and erase the proof."
Lorraine pushed herself up onto her elbows, her pearl necklace tangled and broken, tears of genuine, paralyzing fear streaming down her face. "Roman... please. We were just trying to discipline her. She wouldn't sit still for the portrait. Gavin just... he just tapped her with the prop cane. It was an accident!"
"A tap," Roman repeated, his volume remaining dangerously low. "Does not require... bloody gauze."
He stepped closer to his mother, his polished shoes stopping inches from her trembling hands. The towering, masculine shadow he cast completely engulfed her.
"You put sunglasses on a four-year-old child," Roman whispered, his eyes devoid of any human mercy. "To hide the sins... of this family."
"Roman, we are your blood!" Gavin wheezed from across the room, struggling to push himself up from the ruined backdrop. "You can't treat us like the enemy!"
Roman slowly turned his head to look at his cousin. The coldness in his gaze was absolute.
"Tomorrow," Roman said, dead calm, delivering a promise that froze the very blood in their veins. "You’ll be wearing those sunglasses... for the rest of your lives."
Lorraine’s face became a mask of pure, unadulterated fright. The color drained entirely from her lips. She understood the true implication of his words. He was not going to kill them. He was going to take their eyes.
"No! Roman, my God, no!" Lorraine shrieked, scrambling backward on her hands and knees, scrambling over the broken picture frames.
May you like
Roman did not blink. He turned his attention to his lead bodyguard, Vincent, who was still shielding the weeping Maisie.
"Vincent," Roman commanded softly. "Lock the doors. And bind them."
