Chapter 2
The bright, cinematic lighting of the ballroom suddenly felt harsh and suffocating. The cheerful, airy atmosphere evaporated in a fraction of a second, replaced by a dense, electric tension. The surrounding capos and white American wedding guests stopped their conversations entirely, their eyes darting between the towering Mafia boss and the tiny girl in the dusty-rose dress hugging his leg.
Cassian’s powerful, deeply masculine frame remained perfectly still for a long, agonizing moment. His dark, intimidating eyes looked down at the child. The resemblance was undeniable. She had his exact jawline, the same striking eyes, and the same fair, rosy skin. Slowly, ignoring the shattered crystal and spilled champagne near his polished leather shoes, Cassian crouched down to her eye level. The tailored fabric of his three-piece suit pulled taut across his broad shoulders as he brought himself face-to-face with the three-year-old girl.
"What did you say?" Cassian whispered, his voice a low, raspy rumble that betrayed a terrifying mixture of shock and suppressed emotion.
Before Isla could answer, a frantic movement caught Cassian’s eye. Elena broke through the crowd, her elegant gown sweeping across the marble. Tears were already spilling over her rosy cheeks, her beautiful face a mask of absolute, unadulterated panic. She had spent three years hiding in the shadows, and now her deepest secret was exposed in the middle of a Mafia stronghold.
"Isla, no! Come here right now!" Elena pleaded, her American accent trembling violently as she reached out for her daughter.
"Elena," Cassian breathed, standing halfway up, the sheer impact of seeing his former fiancée stealing the air from his lungs. "You... you have a child."
Before Elena could bridge the distance, Vivienne Morelli suddenly stepped directly between them. At sixty-three years old, Cassian’s aunt and the senior matriarch of the Mafia family was a formidable, terrifying woman. She wore a luxurious, dark formal gown, heavy pearl jewelry, multiple diamond rings, and sharp heels. Her fair skin flushed with a sudden, vicious panic.
Vivienne did not hesitate. She reached down and violently grabbed Isla’s tiny wrist, her rings digging into the child's soft skin.
"Ouch! Let me go!" Isla cried out, trying to pull away from the older woman's iron grip.
Vivienne ignored the child's distress, attempting to forcefully drag the three-year-old away from Cassian and back toward the shadows of the crowd. She glared fiercely at Elena, her eyes burning with a toxic, desperate hatred.
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"You stupid, arrogant girl," Vivienne hissed in a furious, venomous whisper, ensuring her words only reached Elena’s ears. "You were never supposed to bring that child near him."
Elena gasped, stepping back instinctively, her hands flying to her mouth in terror. But the matriarch had made one fatal, catastrophic miscalculation. She had put her hands on the daughter of the Don in plain sight.
