Chapter 7
The bright, natural sunlight pouring into the room seemed to shatter against the sudden, lethal tension. Mentioning Alessandro's late wife was the ultimate, unforgivable taboo within the Vitale syndicate. She had been murdered in a brutal crossfire three years ago, an event that had turned Alessandro from a pragmatic leader into a cold, ruthless, deeply intimidating warlord.
Alessandro slowly turned his entire body to face Bianca. The artistic, elegant tattoos on his neck shifted as his jaw locked so tightly the bone looked ready to snap.
"What did you just say?" Alessandro whispered.
The sheer, freezing menace in his deep voice made the two bodyguards standing behind Bianca instinctively take a half-step back.
Bianca, driven by a toxic mixture of panic, humiliation, and a lifelong, bitter resentment of her nephew's power, decided to double down. She pushed herself up onto her knees, the ruined silk of her formal gown clinging to the dog food and the marble floor.
"I said she makes you weak!" Bianca yelled, tears of desperate fury streaming down her face. "Your wife was a civilian, Alessandro! A soft, pathetic outsider who didn't understand our world! She made you soft! And now you are raising her daughter to be just as fragile! If the Rossi family finds out that the great Alessandro Vitale drops everything to coddle a weeping toddler, they will slaughter us all!"
"You think my daughter. Is a weakness," Alessandro stated, his voice completely devoid of emotion, a terrifyingly blank canvas of impending doom.
"She is a liability!" Bianca screamed, pointing a shaking, jewel-encrusted finger at the little girl sitting at the head of the table. "I am trying to save this syndicate! I am trying to remind these men what a true Vitale looks like!"
Alessandro took a slow, measured step toward her. His dark, masculine presence completely eclipsed the older woman.
"A true Vitale," Alessandro murmured, looking down at her with absolute disgust. "Does not torture children. A true Vitale protects their own with extreme, unapologetic prejudice."
He crouched down gracefully, his tailored trousers pulling taut across his strong legs. He brought his handsome, bearded face incredibly close to his aunt’s pale, trembling visage.
"My wife gave me the only light I have left in this miserable, blood-soaked life," Alessandro whispered, his voice a low, raspy growl meant only for her ears. "And you, Bianca, have just extinguished your own."
"You wouldn't," Bianca gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she looked into the cold, dead eyes of her nephew. "I am your father's sister. I hold the keys to the offshore accounts. The Commission will demand a tribunal if you touch me."
"The Commission," Alessandro said softly, a dark, lethal smile touching the corner of his lips, "answers to me."
He stood back up to his full height, turning his back on her as if she had already ceased to exist.
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"Marcus," Alessandro commanded, his voice ringing with absolute, chilling authority.
The lead bodyguard stepped forward immediately. "Yes, Boss."
