Chapter 5
The silence in the grand breakfast room stretched out, thick and suffocating. The bright morning light seemed to mock the absolute terror that had taken hold of Bianca and Marcus. Marcus remained slumped against the shattered remains of the antique map rack, clutching his bruised ribs, afraid to make a sound.
Vittorio Moretti did not scream. He did not curse. He simply turned away from the cowering woman on the leather ottoman and walked methodically toward the center of the Persian rug.
He looked down at the stainless-steel dog bowl. The dry cereal inside shifted slightly as Vittorio bent his knees. His tailored dark trousers pulled taut against his muscular legs as he gracefully picked up the metal bowl with one large, scarred hand.
Bianca watched him, her breath hitching in her throat. "Vittorio, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling so violently she could barely form the words. "Please. I'm sorry. I lost my temper."
Vittorio walked back to the leather ottoman. His intense gray eyes were completely devoid of warmth, empathy, or forgiveness. He stopped right in front of Bianca, looking down at her fair, pale face.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Vittorio placed the stainless-steel dog bowl directly on the floor at the toe of Bianca’s designer heels. The metal clinked softly against the marble edge of the rug.
"Vittorio?" Bianca whimpered, pulling her legs back as if the bowl were made of burning coals.
"You think highly of yourself, Bianca," Vittorio said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. It was the voice he used when passing a sentence on a rival cartel boss. "You wear expensive silk. You drink fine wine. You thought you were untouchable inside my walls."
"I am untouchable!" Bianca cried out desperately, grasping at her fading arrogance. "My father is a federal judge! If you lay a hand on me, he will tear your entire organization apart!"
Vittorio tilted his head slightly, a dark, humorless shadow crossing his sharply masculine features. He leaned down, placing both of his hands firmly on the arms of the leather ottoman, trapping Bianca in place. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the sudden, sharp smell of her fear.
"Your father is a judge who owes me three million dollars in gambling debts," Vittorio whispered coldly. "He doesn't own this city, Bianca. I do. And in my city, we have a very specific way of dealing with animals who attack children."
Bianca’s face went chalk white. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The realization that she had completely miscalculated the power dynamic crashed down upon her. She wasn't an equal partner; she was a guest who had just violated the most sacred rule of the house.
Vittorio straightened his posture, looking down at the dog bowl, and then back up to her terrified eyes.
"Enjoy your last meal," Vittorio said, ice-cold and absolute.
"No," Bianca gasped, tears ruining her flawless makeup. "No, Vittorio, please! I won't do it!"
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"You will," Vittorio commanded softly. "Or Marcus won't be the only one leaving this room in pieces."
He turned his back on her, dismissing her entire existence, and walked slowly toward the doorway where Emma was still holding his daughter.
