Chapter 9
Vincent stepped aside, revealing little Maisie. The four-year-old girl was trembling violently, her small hands clutching the fabric of her elegant family-party dress. The oversized sunglasses were gone, leaving the bruised, swollen eye and the dark red stain on the gauze fully exposed to the bright studio lights.
Roman’s cold, intimidating aura vanished instantly. The Mafia Boss receded, replaced entirely by a desperate, fiercely protective father. He dropped to his knees on the marble floor, utterly disregarding the scattered glass and torn fabric around him.
"Come here, my beautiful girl," Roman whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed the world to see.
Maisie let out a heartbreaking sob and ran into his arms. Roman caught her, pulling her small, fragile body tightly against his broad chest. He buried his face into her soft hair, his tattooed hands rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles.
"I was so scared, Daddy," Maisie cried, her tears soaking into the collar of his unbuttoned dress shirt. "Uncle Gavin hit me with his heavy stick. Grandma said if I cried, she would lock me in the dark room."
The confirmation of the assault sent a fresh, blinding wave of homicidal rage through Roman’s veins, but he forced his body to remain completely relaxed for his daughter’s sake.
"Nobody is ever going to lock you in a dark room, Maisie," Roman promised, kissing her cheek just below the injured eye. "And Uncle Gavin... is going away for a very, very long time. You are safe now. I swear it on my life."
"Does my eye look ugly?" she whimpered, reaching up with a tiny hand to touch the gauze.
"No," Roman said firmly, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles. "You are the most beautiful girl in the entire world. And tomorrow, we are going to have the best doctors make it all better."
He stood up, lifting Maisie effortlessly into his left arm. She rested her head heavily on his shoulder, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck. Roman turned to his remaining men.
"Clear this room," Roman commanded, his voice returning to its measured, dangerous cadence. "I want the medical team... in the east wing nursery... in five minutes."
"Right away, Boss," Vincent replied, already speaking into his encrypted radio.
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Roman carried his daughter out of the ruined portrait hall. He walked through the massive, pristine corridors of the Valenti estate, the bright natural light from the expansive windows casting his towering shadow against the walls. He brought her to the heavily fortified nursery, laying her gently on her plush bed as the private medical team rushed in to assess her injuries.
He stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his tailored suit, watching the doctors work. His mind, however, was already descending into the dark, violent future he had to orchestrate. His mother and cousin had not acted alone. The arrogance required to strike the daughter of the Boss meant they believed they had backing. They believed a coup was imminent.
