Chapter 2 - The Command of the Don
Salvatore Valetti’s steel-blue eyes ignited with terrifying, lethal fury at his son's inexcusable breach of discipline.
He did not tolerate chaos in public, nor did he permit any Valetti to lay hands on an innocent civilian without cause.
With a violent snap of his broad shoulders, Salvatore slammed his heavy crystal wine glass down onto the mahogany table.
The deafening crack echoed like a gunshot through the vaulted dining hall, sending fine red wine spraying across the pristine white linen.
Several wine goblets jumped and chimed against the porcelain plates, trembling from the sheer force of the impact.
Salvatore rose to his full height, broad-shouldered and towering, his silver-streaked dark beard set in a rigid line of wrath.
"Everybody back off!" Salvatore barked, his thunderous voice instantly cutting through the terrified murmurs of the room.
The two bodyguards responded immediately to the Don's absolute authority, wrenching Lorenzo’s hands away from the waitress's jewelry.
Clara fell back against the carved mahogany wall paneling, clutching her chest as her breath came in rapid, shuddering gasps.
The silver necklace remained completely intact against her white blouse, resting right above her racing heart.
Lorenzo staggered back under the bodyguards' restraint, but his chest heaved with an emotional agony that defied all obedience.
Salvatore stepped around the head of the table, his polished dress shoes crunching slightly on the stray crystal shards.
The mafia boss straightened his dark burgundy tie, his terrifying gaze boring straight into his son’s rebellious face.
"Have you completely lost your mind, Lorenzo?" Salvatore demanded in a low, dangerous tone that made the guards flinch.
"You bring shame to this name by attacking a defenseless girl in the middle of a public establishment," Salvatore hissed.
Clara pressed her palms flat against the cold wood behind her, her hazel eyes darting between the armed men in terror.
She believed she was about to be executed in cold blood by men whose names were whispered in fear across the entire eastern seaboard.
Her hands shook uncontrollably, her delicate fingers instinctively wrapping over the cool metal of her heirloom.
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Lorenzo shook off the second bodyguard's grip, wiping a streak of sweat and anguish from his sharp jawline.
Instead of backing down in shame, Lorenzo took a desperate step toward his father, his eyes shining with brimming tears.
