Chapter 5
The aftermath of the violence left the dining hall completely breathless. The bright, cinematic lighting cast a harsh, unforgiving glare over the fallen matriarch. Bianca lay on the marble floor, gasping for air, her fair skin smeared with the disgusting remnants of the dog food. She clutched her bruised chest, tears of profound pain and absolute humiliation streaming down her face.
Alessandro did not spare her a second glance. His entire focus shifted immediately back to the only person in the room who mattered to him.
He knelt down gracefully, his tailored dress shirt pulling tight across his broad shoulders. He reached out with his large, heavily tattooed hands and gently lifted Sophie from the cold marble floor. The little girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her tear-stained face into the crook of his shoulder.
"I've got you, my little bird," Alessandro murmured, his deep, raspy voice instantly softening into a tone of pure, protective paternal love. "No one will ever speak to you that way again. I promise you."
He stood up, carrying her effortlessly. He walked to the very head of the massive mahogany dining table. With utmost care, Alessandro lifted Sophie and placed her directly into his own oversized, leather-backed chair—the throne of the Vitale syndicate.
"You sit here," Alessandro told her gently. "This is your house."
He then slowly turned his imposing, deeply masculine frame back toward the rest of the room. The tender father vanished in an instant, replaced entirely by the cold, calculating warlord.
He raised a single, heavily ringed hand and snapped his fingers once.
The sound cracked like a whip. Instantly, two massive, white American bodyguards in professional dark suits stepped out from the perimeter. They moved with synchronized, lethal precision, marching across the room and stepping directly behind the weeping, ruined Bianca. They stood over her like twin executioners, their hands resting casually on the concealed weapons beneath their jackets.
Bianca looked up, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror as the two imposing men boxed her in.
Alessandro walked slowly toward her, stopping just out of her reach. He looked down at his aunt, his cold, piercing eyes devoid of a single shred of human empathy.
"Hold onto that bowl," Alessandro said.
His American accent was dead calm, devoid of any shouting or theatrics, which made the command infinitely more terrifying. He utilized his signature controlled pauses, letting the absolute certainty of his words sink into her bones.
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"You’ll be eating from it. Soon."
Bianca’s face became genuinely, profoundly frightened. The arrogant, untouchable matriarch realized with a sickening drop in her stomach that this was not a threat. It was a guaranteed, impending sentence. She was going to be treated exactly like the animal she had tried to make his daughter become.
