Chapter 2 - Flesh Against Gravity
Elena’s fingernails dug desperately into her father’s forearm, seeking any shred of anchor in the terrifying expanse of empty space.
The friction of the sudden catch had left an angry, bright-red ring across her delicate wrist, but the pain meant life.
Salvatore planted his leather soles firmly against the marble baseboards, converting every ounce of his towering strength into upward leverage.
His tailored jacket strained across his broad back as the seams groaned against his flexing muscles.
With a guttural roar born of primal fatherhood, Salvatore hauled Elena’s dangling frame upward against the pull of the abyss.
Her silk hem brushed the polished balusters as he hoisted her back over the golden boundary line.
Elena scrambled desperately across the top rail, collapsing directly onto the solid marble landing at his feet.
Salvatore wrapped his heavy arms around her shivering shoulders, pulling her instantly against his chest.
Elena buried her face into his white dress shirt, sobbing uncontrollably as violent tremors wracked her slender frame.
Her chestnut curls were hopelessly tangled, her pale-blue gown twisted and creased from the violent struggle.
Salvatore ran a trembling hand through her hair, his dark eyes surveying her for any lethal trauma.
"You're on the stone, Elena," he whispered fiercely, his chest heaving with heavy, adrenaline-fueled breaths.
"You're safe on the floor, little bird," he murmured, feeling her heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped sparrow.
Behind them, Victoria took a hasty step backward, her diamond necklace shuddering against her collarbones as the reality of her failed execution set in.
Salvatore gently guided Elena behind his imposing bulk, pressing her firmly against the interior wall of the staircase landing.
He rose to his full height, turning slowly toward his beautiful, ruthless trophy wife.
The protective tenderness in his face vanished entirely, replaced by the terrifying, merciless visage of a syndicate kingpin.
His dark eyes turned to obsidian ice, radiating an explosive, homicidal fury that made the grand entrance hall turn cold.
Victoria smoothed the emerald satin of her gown with trembling fingers, struggling to reassemble her mask of aristocratic defiance.
"She lost her balance, Sal!" Victoria lied smoothly, though her high-pitched voice quivered with unmistakable panic.
"I reached out to grab her, I swear to God I tried to save her!" she protested, her hands hovering in mock innocence.
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Salvatore did not speak, his silence far more terrifying than any bellow of rage.
He stepped forward, each heavy tread sounding like the rhythmic toll of a funeral bell against the marble.
