Chapter 2 - Blood on the Shattered Crystal
The violent crash of crystal glass echoed like a gunshot across the enormous walnut-paneled ballroom.
Dozens of Chicago’s wealthiest socialites and high-ranking associates stopped their laughter, freezing in stunned bewilderment.
Outside the towering arched windows, thick snowflakes fell against the black winter sky, contrasting with the sudden nightmare inside.
Maria pressed her palms against the wet marble floor, struggling to breathe through the sharp pain throbbing in her scalp.
Crystal shards dug into her apron as she raised her eyes toward the terrifying blonde woman blocking the shaking box.
Victoria stood like a venomous sentinel, her chest heaving beneath the crimson silk, refusing to let anyone approach.
Another muffled groan escaped the wooden chest, followed by the frantic scratching of fingernails against polished timber.
The guests recoiled, murmuring in horror as they realized the decorative holiday chest contained a living, breathing human being.
At the center of the ballroom, forty-eight-year-old Salvatore Delacroix snapped his head toward the commotion.
The billionaire mafia boss stood tall in his custom-tailored black tuxedo, his piercing gray eyes narrowing instantly.
He took in the sight of the bleeding housemaid, the shattered banquet spread, and his fiancée’s vicious stance.
His jaw clenched tight against his light stubble, his commanding aura dropping the room's temperature by twenty degrees.
Salvatore did not ask questions as his polished leather shoes began striking the marble in rapid, thunderous strides.
The crowd parted before him like water before a warship, terrified of the lethal fury radiating from his broad frame.
Victoria’s icy blue eyes flickered toward his incoming figure, and for the first time, a glimmer of panic pierced her arrogance.
She tried to plant her high heels firmly, stretching her diamond-clad arms wide to shield the vibrating chest from view.
The desperate pounding from within grew weaker, the frantic thuds turning into hollow, suffocating taps.
Salvatore covered the distance in seconds, his muscular presence towering over the shivering blonde woman.
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He saw the fear in Maria’s eyes, the violent bruising forming on her scalp, and the desperate movements within the antique chest.
A primal, fatherly instinct sparked in his chest, signaling that something unspeakably evil was unfolding beneath the Christmas lights.
