Chapter 3
The cinematic, flawless light pouring from the chandeliers felt suddenly harsh and condemning. Galen stood like a monument of lethal fury, his arm wrapped protectively around his daughter. The fair, rosy complexion of the guests had paled drastically. They knew that striking a member of the Don's bloodline was an act of explicit, suicidal treason, even if the person delivering the blow was his soon-to-be wife.
Ainsley, blinded by her own vanity and a foolish belief that she held power over the Mafia boss, refused to back down. She mistakenly interpreted his silence as confusion rather than the calm before an absolute storm.
"She was throwing a tantrum, Galen," Ainsley lied smoothly, adjusting her diamond bracelet as if brushing off dust. "She was completely out of control. I was simply disciplining her. She needs a mother who won't tolerate such pathetic behavior."
"You disciplined her?" Galen asked. His voice was incredibly quiet, a dangerous, gravelly hum that resonated through the dead-silent ballroom.
"She was ruining the evening," Ainsley insisted, taking a step closer. She reached out, her manicured fingers grasping roughly at Eira’s small arm. "Come here, Eira. Apologize to your father for causing such a shameful scene."
Ainsley grabbed Eira by the arm and tried to pull her aggressively away from Galen's side.
Eira cried out in pain, her tiny flats slipping on the marble as the older woman yanked her.
Galen’s reaction was instantaneous and terrifying. He forcefully removed Ainsley’s hand from his daughter. His large, powerful fingers clamped around Ainsley’s wrist with the crushing, inescapable force of a steel vise. He twisted her hand away with a violent jerk, shoving her arm back toward her own body.
"Do not ever touch her again," Galen warned, his American accent dropping to an absolute, freezing register.
Ainsley gasped, rubbing her bruised wrist, her eyes widening as the first flicker of genuine fear finally pierced her arrogant facade. "Galen! You are hurting me! How dare you treat me this way in front of our guests!"
Eira buried her face into her father's tailored suit jacket, her small shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with tears, her innocence shattered by the cruelty of the woman standing before them.
"Daddy," Eira cried, her voice trembling violently in the quiet room. "She took Mommy's picture. She took my locket."
"I know, little bird. I know," Galen whispered, his hand gently stroking her hair to calm her.
May you like
"And she said..." Eira hiccuped, struggling to catch her breath, "she says Mommy’s things disappear after the wedding. She said Mommy doesn't belong here anymore."
The words struck the room with the force of a detonating bomb. A collective gasp echoed from the surrounding white American guests. The late wife of the Mafia boss was a deeply revered figure within the family, and erasing her memory was an unforgivable insult. Galen’s eyes darkened into a storm of violent intent.
