Chapter 3 - The Clutch with the Golden Clasp
Outside in the main corridor, panic began to ripple through the staff. Sophia rushed down the hallway, her champagne tray abandoned on a side table, her face pale with terror as she realized Emma was missing.
"Emma!" Sophia gasped, spotting her daughter coming out of the executive wing.
Sophia dropped to her knees and pulled Emma tight into her arms, pressing the small girl against her chest. "Where did you go? You know you can't wander off!"
Emma rested her head on Sophia’s shoulder, but her sharp, observant eyes looked past her mother toward the far end of the grand staircase.
Standing near the top landing was Vivian DeLuca. At thirty-four, Vivian was Damiano’s elegant fiancée—a stunning, sophisticated woman wearing an opulent champagne-colored evening dress and gleaming diamond jewelry. Outwardly, she appeared perfectly composed, watching the guards clear the hallway with mild curiosity.
But Emma saw what the guards missed. Vivian’s manicured fingers were shaking violently as she snapped shut her sparkling, golden clutch bag, shoving something deep inside her purse before stepping toward the balcony railing.
Moments later, the heavy brass doors of the grand meeting room swung open. Five powerful Mafia dons, flanked by their primary lieutenants, entered the formal hall, preparing to take their seats around the massive mahogany conference table.
Damiano walked into the room ahead of them, his posture stiff, his eyes burning like frozen steel. Before any of the dons could pull out a chair, Damiano raised one broad hand in a sharp, non-negotiable command.
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"Nobody sit," Damiano barked.
Marco and ten armed security officers stepped forward simultaneously, surrounding the table and physically blocking the five bosses from approaching their seats. The room erupted in shocked whispers, but Damiano’s gaze never drifted to the guests. His eyes were locked firmly on Vivian, who had just entered the back of the room with a calm, practiced smile.
