Chapter 4
"A hit," Damon repeated slowly. The words tasted like venom on his tongue.
He took one measured, deliberate step toward her. The cinematic lighting cast sharp, intimidating shadows across the angular planes of his face. He was the undisputed head of the most feared syndicate on the East Coast, a man who commanded an army of killers, and yet this woman believed she could torture his children without consequence.
Brielle, misreading his silence as hesitation, uncrossed her arms and took a step forward herself. Driven by a twisted sense of superiority and a desperate need to reassert control over the situation, she decided to push the boundary further.
"Come here, Caleb," Brielle ordered, reaching her manicured hand past Damon, trying to bypass his towering frame to grab the older boy’s arm. "We aren't finished playing."
Damon moved with blinding, explosive speed.
He stepped directly into her path, his broad, masculine chest completely blocking her reach. He was an impenetrable wall of tailored wool and pure, lethal intent.
"Do not speak to him," Damon commanded quietly.
Brielle’s fair, rosy face flushed a deep, violent crimson with rage. Furious that her authority had been publicly challenged in front of the bodyguards, she lost all sense of self-preservation. She pulled her arm back and delivered a sharp, ringing slap across Damon’s face.
The sound cracked like a gunshot through the peaceful garden.
The physical force of the blow caused Damon’s head to turn slightly with the impact. A faint, red mark appeared on his cheek, right above his neat, trimmed stubble.
The two bodyguards by the entrance stiffened, their hands drifting instinctively toward their holsters.
No dialogue was spoken. The silence that descended upon the pavilion was absolute, heavy, and pregnant with the promise of catastrophic violence. The birds seemed to stop singing. The wind ceased.
Damon did not raise his hand to his cheek. He did not flinch. He slowly, deliberately turned his head back to look at her. His thick, slightly wavy hair shifted perfectly into place. His cold, intimidating eyes locked onto hers with a gaze so entirely devoid of human empathy it stopped her heart.
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Brielle’s arrogant, mocking smile disappeared instantly.
She stared into his eyes, and for the first time in their two-year courtship, she saw the monster the rest of the world feared. She realized, with a sickening drop in her stomach, that she had just signed her own death warrant.
