My fiancée slapped my 8-year-old daughter during dinner—then a secret DNA test result revealed a truth I never knew.

The grand ballroom of the Bellandi estate was bathed in the warm, golden light of three crystal chandeliers. Baccarat glass clinked against vintage champagne bottles, and the heavy aroma of slow-roasted cedar and roasted meats filled the room. Hundreds of high-society figures, syndicate lieutenants, and corrupt politicians moved across the polished oak floor, all gathered to celebrate the annual Bellandi family banquet.

At forty-one, Celeste Bellandi was the picture of aristocratic coldness. Draped in an extravagant silver evening gown that draped around her frame like liquid moonlight, she dripped with diamond chandelier earrings and a cascading diamond necklace that caught the light with every subtle breath. Her fair, rosy cheeks were taut with a superficial smile, but her icy blue eyes burned with bitter malice. To the world, Celeste was the sophisticated, beautiful fiancée of the undisputed syndicate boss. To those who knew the inner workings of the empire, she was a venomous opportunist waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.

Near the lavish dessert table stood eight-year-old Ellie Bellandi. She was a vision of pure innocence amidst a den of wolves, dressed in a pale-lavender formal dress, a soft cream cardigan, and velvet flats. In her small hands, she held a tiny porcelain plate with a slice of strawberry cake.

Celeste glided forward, her silver heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. With a cold, deliberate movement, she snatched Ellie’s dessert plate right out of her small hands and threw it onto the floor. The porcelain smashed violently, scattering cake across the velvet rug.

When Ellie protested, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes, Celeste didn't hesitate. She brought her hand back and sharply slapped the eight-year-old girl directly across the face.

The force of the strike knocked Ellie off balance. She stumbled backward against the edge of the dessert table, tumbling onto the thick rug. A tiny white baby tooth, loosened by the impact, fell from her mouth and landed softly on the dark carpet beside her.

Celeste looked down at the crying child, her red lips curving into a vicious sneer. "One less tooth for the wrong little heir."

Before Celeste could take another step, the heavy double doors at the entrance of the banquet hall swung open.

Victor Bellandi stepped into the room. At fifty-two, the feared and immensely powerful Mafia Boss commanded the entire hall without uttering a single word. Broad-shouldered, muscular, rugged, deeply masculine, and terrifyingly composed, Victor radiated an aura of unyielding authority. He wore a custom midnight-black tuxedo, gold cufflinks gleaming at his wrists, a luxury wristwatch, and polished leather shoes. Every eye in the room turned toward him in silent deference.

Victor took three strides into the hall and froze.

His dark, piercing eyes locked onto his daughter kneeling on the carpet, crying softly as she held her cheek. Beside her lay the tiny white tooth. Victor immediately crossed the room, dropping to one knee beside Ellie. He picked up the baby tooth, his broad thumb gently wiping a tear from her fair, rosy cheek.

Slowly, Victor rose to his full height. His broad frame loomed over the room as he turned his gaze toward Celeste.

"You hit my daughter," Victor said, his voice low, deep, and dangerous enough to make the surrounding guards freeze in place.

Ellie reached inside her pale-lavender cardigan, her hands trembling as she pulled out a folded document she had discovered hidden inside Celeste’s private bedroom earlier that evening. With wide, frightened eyes, she handed the folded DNA report directly to her father.

Victor did not say a word. He gently placed Ellie safely behind his broad frame, shielding her from the room. Then, he walked directly toward Celeste.

Celeste opened her mouth to speak, forcing a haughty smile. "Victor, darling, she was being disobedient—"

CRACK!

Victor brought his broad, heavy palm across Celeste’s face with terrifying force. The hard slap echoed like a rifle shot across the silent, cavernous hall. The sheer power behind the blow sent Celeste staggering backward, her silver dress rustling violently as she collapsed into a velvet banquet chair, dropping her champagne flute onto the rug.

Gasps reverberated through the room. High-society ladies covered their mouths; hardened syndicate lieutenants stepped back in sheer shock.

Celeste lay in the padded chair, humiliated, holding her swollen cheek. Yet, as she looked up at Victor, her expression shifted into a strange, venomous confidence.

"Look at the second match," Celeste threatened in a low, raspy whisper that carried across the quiet space.

Victor unfolded the final page of the DNA report. His eyes scanned down the certified medical analysis. Below Ellie’s profile, another child was listed—a nine-year-old boy bearing a 99.9% direct biological match as a full sibling.

Victor’s dark eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits, his breathing locking in his chest.