Chapter 3
The bright, cinematic colors of the ballroom seemed to freeze in the wake of the violent crash. The heavy thud of Emma hitting the floor echoed with sickening clarity. For a fraction of a second, the wealthy white American guests were entirely paralyzed by shock.
"Emma!" a frantic voice screamed from the adjacent table.
Laura Moretti, Vincent’s twenty-five-year-old daughter and Emma’s adoptive mother, moved with explosive speed. Dressed in a breathtakingly elegant formal dress, with delicate earrings, a diamond bracelet, and high heels, she completely abandoned her aristocratic composure. She shoved her chair back so violently it tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud crack.
Laura immediately dropped to her knees on the hard marble, her expensive gown pooling around her. She reached out with trembling hands and frantically pulled the weeping three-year-old girl into her arms, crushing Emma against her chest.
"I've got you, my sweet girl. Mommy has you," Laura whispered frantically, her fair, rosy face pale with absolute terror as she ran her hands over Emma's arms and head to check for injuries. "Are you hurt? Please tell Mommy where it hurts."
"Mommy…" Emma sobbed, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of Laura's dress. The little girl fought valiantly against her tears, her bright blue eyes shimmering under the chandelier lights. She looked up at her mother, her innocent heart completely shattered by the old woman's venomous words. "Mommy… am I not really family?"
The heartbreaking, innocent question sliced through the silent room like a razor blade.
"You are my family! You are my entire world!" Laura cried out, her American accent thick with emotion and rising fury. She kissed the top of Emma's head repeatedly. "Don't you ever listen to her. You are a Moretti."
David, having recovered from the initial shock, stood up fully. The sixteen-year-old boy stepped around the table, placing his body squarely between his mother, his little sister, and his great-aunt. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, his dress shoes planted firmly on the ground.
"Get away from them," David growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous, masculine register that perfectly mirrored his grandfather's. "If you ever touch my sister again, I swear to God I'll—"
"You'll do what, boy?" Margaret sneered, stepping closer, entirely unimpressed by the teenager's threat. "You are just as soft as your mother. I am trying to preserve the dignity of this house. This child is a mongrel, and she belongs out of sight."
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"The only thing that belongs out of sight is you," Laura hissed, turning her furious, tear-filled eyes up toward the older woman. "You are a bitter, hateful monster, Margaret."
The surrounding guests began to murmur, the tension in the room skyrocketing. The bodyguards standing along the perimeter shifted uneasily in their professional suits, their eyes darting toward the far end of the banquet hall, waiting for the inevitable, apocalyptic response they knew was coming.
