Chapter 9
The absolute finality of Vincent's decree hung over the banquet hall like a heavy executioner's blade. The bright video colors of the room—the rich dresses, the sparkling jewels—felt like a grotesque, mocking backdrop to Margaret’s hysterical despair.
"Take her," Vincent commanded softly, not taking his eyes off his sister.
The two bodyguards immediately turned and grabbed Margaret roughly by the arms.
"Vincent, no! I am a Moretti!" Margaret screamed, struggling frantically against the massive men. Her high heels kicked uselessly against the polished marble floor as they physically lifted her off her feet. "You cannot do this to your own blood! The other families will think you are weak!"
"The other families," Vincent murmured, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room, ensuring every capo and guest heard him clearly, "will know exactly what happens to anyone... who disrespects my child."
The bodyguards hauled the thrashing, screaming sixty-eight-year-old woman backward. They didn't take her through the kitchen; they dragged her toward the heavy brass service elevators at the rear of the hall. Her desperate pleas for mercy faded into the corridors, leaving a heavy, stunned silence in their wake.
Vincent turned his back on the exit. He walked slowly back toward his family. The terrifying, cold-blooded Mafia Boss vanished entirely as he dropped to one knee on the hard floor, utterly disregarding his tailored suit.
He reached out and gently pulled Emma out from behind his legs. The three-year-old girl was trembling, her elegant dress slightly wrinkled from the chaos.
"I've got you, my beautiful girl," Vincent whispered, his raspy voice thick with a warm, protective paternal love. He brushed a tear from her rosy cheek with his tattooed thumb. "You are safe. Nobody is ever going to make you leave this table again."
"Is the mean lady gone, Grandpa?" Emma sniffled, her bright blue eyes looking at him with absolute trust.
"Yes, sweetheart," Vincent promised, kissing her forehead. "The mean lady is gone forever."
Laura knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around both her father and her adopted daughter. Tears of relief streamed down her fair face. "Thank you, Dad."
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David stood over them, his formal suit pristine, his chest puffed out with pride. He had stood his ground, and his grandfather had validated his courage.
Vincent stood up, lifting Emma effortlessly into his arms. He held her securely against his unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked around the room, his cold, intimidating eyes sweeping over the hundreds of white American guests who remained frozen in their seats. The purge of his own house was complete, but the true test of his empire's strength was only just beginning.
