Chapter 5
The cinematic, natural lighting of the atrium offered absolutely no shadows for Julian to hide his fatal arrogance. He stood toe-to-toe with the Mafia Boss, genuinely believing that his family's political alliances rendered him untouchable.
"I believe that I am the one keeping your supply lines open, Xavier," Julian sneered, his fair face flushing a deep, angry red. "Without my family, you have no access to the northern ports. You need us. So yes, I dictate what happens when you treat my sister like a secondary thought."
Blinded by his own adrenaline and the perceived need to prove his masculinity in front of the syndicate's guests, Julian made the final, catastrophic mistake of his life. He released Xavier’s jacket, pulled his right arm back, and swung a heavy, reckless punch directly aimed at Xavier’s jaw.
Xavier’s reaction was instantaneous and executed with the flawless, terrifying precision of a veteran street enforcer.
He did not flinch. With a subtle, effortless shift of his weight, Xavier slipped his head to the outside. Julian’s fist sailed harmlessly past his ear, cutting through empty air. The missed momentum pulled the forty-year-old associate entirely off balance, exposing the entire left side of his body.
Still holding Maya securely in his left arm, Xavier planted his polished black leather loafers firmly onto the floor. Utilizing the immense, deeply masculine power of his core and broad shoulders, he drove one explosive, devastating counterpunch straight across Julian’s face.
The heavy gold signet ring on Xavier’s right hand connected squarely with Julian’s cheekbone. The sickening, deafening crack of bone breaking echoed like a gunshot through the silent, brightly lit atrium.
The massive kinetic force of the blow lifted Julian completely out of his black leather oxfords. His eyes rolled back in his head instantly as all the air detonated from his lungs.
Julian spun violently sideways, completely out of control. He hurtled across the floor and crashed directly into the low marble sculpture plinth near the center of the room.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy, decorative bronze statue resting on the plinth was knocked violently off its base. It slid across the smooth stone and crashed heavily onto the thick carpet. As Julian’s body slammed against the marble structure, the sheer force caused two heavy velvet crowd posts to topple over. Their braided ropes snapped loose with sharp, metallic twangs, whipping across the floor.
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Julian crashed heavily against the shifted marble plinth as the entire elegant display came apart around him. He collapsed into a tangled, groaning heap of broken stone, velvet ropes, and shattered pride, his expensive light-grey suit ruined and stained with blood.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced every single person in the room. The white American guests pressed themselves flat against the walls, utterly paralyzed by fear. Xavier stood perfectly still, his breathing completely even, his cold eyes waiting for the dust to settle.
