Chapter 2 - The Blood Debt of the Thirtieth Strike
Dominic reached me in four long,
calculated strides.
He didn't ask if I was okay,
because the answer was written in the red stains on my silk gown.
Instead,
he took off his overcoat and draped it over my shoulders,
the heavy wool shielding my wounds from the prying eyes of the crowd.
His touch was surprisingly gentle,
a stark contrast to the violence radiating from his silhouette.
"Matteo,"
Dominic said,
never breaking eye contact with me.
"Get her a chair."
Matteo,
the brother who handled the logistics of their many "enterprises,"
didn't just find a chair.
He walked over to Adrian’s father,
Richard Cole,
and physically shoved him out of the antique velvet armchair he was sitting in.
Richard stumbled,
nearly falling into the champagne tower,
but he didn't utter a word of protest.
The sight of Matteo’s holster was enough to keep him silent.
I sat down,
the fabric of Dominic’s coat pressing against my back,
sending a fresh wave of agony through my nerves.
I didn't flinch.
I wanted to feel it.
I wanted every ounce of this pain to fuel what was coming next.
Adrian finally found his voice,
though it sounded high and strained,
reft of its usual authority.
"What is the meaning of this?"
he demanded,
trying to puff out his chest.
"This is a private residence,
Moretti.
You can't just break in here with your...
your thugs."
Luca,
the attorney,
stepped forward with a small,
predatory smile.
He pulled a folder from his inner pocket and tossed it onto the table beside the spilled wine.
"Actually,
Adrian,"
Luca said,
his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous,
"as of four minutes ago,
this property has been seized due to an emergency injunction regarding massive tax fraud and money laundering."
He paused,
his eyes glinting.
"And by 'seized,'
I mean I bought the debt from your primary lender at a ninety percent markup just to see the look on your face."
Adrian blanched,
his eyes darting to his father.
Richard Cole looked like he was having a heart attack.
"That's impossible,"
Margaret shrieked,
her voice grating like glass on metal.
"We are the Coles!
You can't do this to us!"
Nico,
the youngest and most observant,
didn't even look up from his tablet.
"The Coles are currently worth about thirty-two dollars and a half-eaten ham sandwich,"
he muttered.
"I’ve frozen the offshore accounts,
the domestic trusts,
and even your mistress's little boutique fund in the Caymans."
Vanessa Hart gasped,
her hand flying to her throat.
"You can't touch my money!"
Dominic finally turned his head to look at her.
It was the look a god might give an ant before stepping on it.
"I can touch anything I want,"
Dominic said softly.
"Because you touched my sister."
He then turned his gaze to Adrian,
who was beginning to tremble.
"Thirty strikes,
Adrian?"
Dominic asked,
his voice dropping to a whisper that carried to every corner of the room.
"You whipped a Moretti thirty times?"
He stepped closer,
entering Adrian's personal space.
"I wonder,"
Dominic mused,
"how many strikes it takes to break a man who has nothing left to lose."
The guests began to whisper,
a low hiss of gossip and fear.
They had spent the night laughing at me.
Now,
they were looking for the nearest exit.
But the men in tactical gear didn't move.
May you like
Nobody was leaving.
The party was far from over.
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