Chapter 7
As Domenico ascended the grand staircase, the suffocating silence of the atrium finally began to crack. The ambient sounds of whispered panic rippled through the crowd of well-dressed guests. The bodyguards in their dark suits immediately snapped into action, their movements swift and professional, completely ignoring the bleeding Marcus and the weeping Valentina.
"Clear the floor," the head of security barked, his sharp American accent echoing off the marble. "Everyone back to the perimeter. Now."
Valentina scrambled to her knees, clutching the fabric of her luxurious gown. She looked frantically toward the guests, searching for an ally among the capos and lieutenants who had dined at her table for two years.
"Don't just stand there!" Valentina shrieked, her voice shrill with desperation. "He's insane! You know my father! If I am thrown out of this house, the Cole family will cut the supply lines to the eastern ports by midnight!"
None of the guests met her eyes. A senior capo, a man with silver hair and a tailored suit, stepped forward slowly. He looked down at her, his fair skin betraying no emotion.
"Your brother drew a hand against the Boss," the capo stated quietly, his voice cold. "In front of the entire family. Your father's supply lines mean nothing compared to the blood that was just disrespected. I suggest you pack your bags, Mrs. Falcone, before the Boss changes his mind about letting you walk out of the gate."
Valentina let out a ragged, humiliated sob. She turned to the head table, where her eight-year-old son, Ethan, was still sitting perfectly still, his eyes wide and terrified.
"Ethan! Come here!" Valentina commanded, reaching her arms out toward the boy.
Ethan scrambled out of the chair—the very chair she had stolen from Ruby—and ran to his mother, burying his face in her ruined dress. Valentina held him tightly, her eyes darting toward the top of the stairs where Domenico had disappeared.
She knew the rules of the life she had married into. A boss who showed weakness was a dead man, but a boss who tolerated an attack from a subordinate was worse. Domenico had just cemented his absolute authority in blood, and in doing so, he had completely severed the political alliance between their families.
"Get Marcus," Valentina ordered two of the estate's lower-ranking guards, her voice trembling but finding a shred of its former commanding tone. "Put him in the car. We are leaving."
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The guards hesitated, glancing toward the capo for approval. The silver-haired man gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. The guards moved forward, hauling the unconscious Marcus up by his armpits, dragging his expensive, blood-soaked suit across the pristine marble floor.
Valentina gripped Ethan’s hand, her manicured nails digging into his skin as she dragged the boy toward the front doors. She cast one final, venomous look back at the grand staircase, a silent vow of retribution burning in her eyes as she crossed the threshold into the night.
