Chapter 1 - The Edge of the Golden Rail
Without a single whisper of warning, Victoria’s manicured hands slammed violently into the shoulder blades of her twenty-one-year-old stepdaughter.
The sickening momentum tore Elena clean off the upper landing of the grand Chicago mansion.
Elena’s silver high heels lost all purchase against the slick, polished white marble steps.
Her pale-blue silk dress whipped wildly through the stagnant evening air as her center of gravity vanished over the polished golden handrail.
A piercing shriek tore from the girl’s throat, echoing against the towering marble pillars and the crystal chandelier suspended four stories above the grand entrance hall.
Her slender fingers clawed frantically at the gilded banister, but the lacquered metal offered no friction against her frantic grasp.
Her body tipped horizontally into the deadly open air, suspended high above the unforgiving stone floor below.
Victoria stood at the precipice in her shimmering emerald-green satin evening gown, her platinum-blonde waves catching the chandelier’s warm glow as a vicious sneer distorted her sharp features.
"You don't belong here!" the thirty-eight-year-old woman snarled with venomous satisfaction, certain that her rival for the family dynasty was about to be obliterated.
Five steps below them, Salvatore Moretti moved with the lethal, explosive instinct that had kept him atop the Chicago underworld for three decades.
The forty-nine-year-old mafia boss did not hesitate, think, or calculate the physical impossibility of the leap.
His muscular frame, wrapped in a bespoke black tailored suit and crisp white dress shirt, surged upward in a blur of violent motion.
His polished leather shoes struck the marble risers with thunderous force as his dark eyes locked onto his falling daughter.
Veins bulged along Salvatore’s neck and jawline as he threw his entire upper body over the golden handrail into the empty expanse.
His silver-streaked temples caught the light as his large, calloused hands clamped like steel vices around Elena’s slender right wrist.
The violent jolt of her falling weight wrenched his shoulder joint with an audible, agonizing crack.
The air exploded from Salvatore’s lungs, yet his grip did not slip by a single millimeter.
Elena dangled helpless in the open void, her chestnut-brown hair cascading around her tear-streaked face.
Her wide green eyes locked onto her father’s face in pure, paralyzing terror as the marble floor yawned thirty feet beneath her dangling heels.
Above them, Victoria’s triumphant smirk froze into a grotesque mask of disbelief as she watched her husband defy gravity itself.
Salvatore braced his heavy torso against the solid balustrade, his knuckles turning white under the crushing strain.
He looked down into his daughter's horrified eyes and exhaled a ragged, feral breath.
"I've got you, baby," Salvatore growled through clenched teeth, his protective fury vibrating through every sinew of his body.
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"Don't look down, Elena; look at me!" he commanded, his voice roaring through the cavernous foyer like rolling thunder.
Near the grand mahogany front doors, Dante, the chief bodyguard, reached instinctively for his concealed sidearm as the confrontation shattered the gathering's uneasy silence.
