Chapter 4
Helena’s fair, rosy face turned the color of wet ash. She recognized the terrifying, dead-eyed look on her son's face—it was the exact same look he gave rival bosses right before he ordered their executions. Driven by a desperate, irrational need to eliminate the evidence of her treason, she lost all sense of self-preservation.
"You little brat, you ruined everything!" Helena hissed.
Helena suddenly lunged forward again. She reached her manicured, ring-adorned hands toward Sophie, intending to violently snatch the child and drag her away from Roman's line of sight, as if removing the girl physically could undo the revelation.
Roman’s reaction was explosive and blindingly fast.
He intercepted her hand in mid-air. His large, powerful fingers clamped around his mother's wrist with the crushing, inescapable force of a steel vice. He tore her arm away from his daughter with a violent jerk that nearly lifted the older woman off her feet. Without a single fraction of hesitation, Roman pulled his other hand back and delivered one powerful, devastating open-handed slap directly across Helena’s face.
The sound cracked like a gunshot over the ambient noise of the gala.
The kinetic force of the blow lifted the sixty-seven-year-old woman completely off balance. She staggered violently backward, her luxurious emerald gown twisting around her legs. She crashed heavily against the wooden registration table, sending guest lists, crystal vases, and silver pens scattering across the polished floor. She collapsed against the mahogany wood, holding her rapidly bruising cheek, gasping for breath in total, humiliated shock.
No dialogue was spoken.
The music in the ballroom seemed to fade into a dull, distant hum. The capos, the donors, and the elite guests stood frozen in absolute, terrified silence. A veteran Mafia boss striking the matriarch of his own family in public was an unprecedented, earth-shattering event. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the total destruction of Helena's untouchable status.
Two massive white American bodyguards in dark formal suits immediately stepped forward. They did not help Helena stand; instead, they moved with synchronized precision and stepped directly behind her, positioning themselves as living walls to trap the matriarch against the ruined table. They answered only to Roman.
Roman did not adjust his suit. He slowly turned his back on his mother and reached out, gently placing his hand on Sophie’s back. He guided the trembling three-year-old to stand safely beside him, shielding her entirely behind his broad, masculine frame.
He stood tall, his chest rising and falling in a slow, terrifying rhythm. His deep, intimidating eyes locked directly onto his mother, slicing through her aristocratic facade.
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"I’ve sent fifty thousand every month," Roman said, dead calm, in a low, menacing voice that sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the room. "Tell me where it went."
Helena went completely pale. Her eyes widened as she became utterly, genuinely frightened of the monster she had raised, realizing her life now hung by a single, frayed thread.
