The guests swarmed around us, some even pulling out their phones to take pictures.
The stiletto ground into my arm, threatening to snap the bone. Blood bloomed on the torn flesh where her heel dug in.
Angelo was jumping up and down in the crowd. “Hit her! Hit her! She’s a bad woman!”
“Security! Drag this crazy bitch out of here and throw her in the East River!” Vivian shrieked hysterically.
The club’s security guards, hearing the commotion, hurried over.
“Ma’am, you need to come with us,” one of them said, his tone firm as he reached for my arm.
I struggled to stand, my voice choked. “Stop. I’m Dante’s…”
Before I could get the words out, Vivian’s hand cracked across my face. And then again.
“Shut up! You dare mention the Don’s name? You’re not worthy!”
My cheeks burned, and fresh blood seeped from the corner of my mouth.
Joey crouched down beside me, his voice a low, urgent whisper. “Adriana, stop this. You’re going to be finished.”
He looked at me, his eyes cold. “If you beg me, right now, I’ll get you out of this. For Angelo’s sake, I’ll save your pathetic life.”
I struggled to lift my head, to look at the man I had once loved so deeply.
There wasn’t a trace of genuine concern in his eyes, only arrogance and condescension.
“Joey,” I rasped, the words tearing from my throat. “You’re all finished. You, your wife, your entire pathetic crew.”
Coming back to New York, I hadn’t planned on settling scores with them. It wasn’t worth my time.
But now, I swore I would make every single one of them pay.
Joey’s brow furrowed, and he was about to retort when he realized the entire hall had fallen silent.
Every person in the room had turned respectfully toward the main entrance.
He scrambled to pull me up, his voice a panicked hiss in my ear. “The Don is here. Shut your goddamn mouth, or so help me…”
A tall figure appeared in the doorway, flanked by a phalanx of bodyguards.
It was Dante.
He stood there, a titan in a perfectly tailored black suit, his face carved from ice.
His consigliere, Marco, was at his side, followed closely by several capos.
Beside his towering figure, a small hand was clasped in his—a little boy dressed in an exquisite miniature suit, looking like an angel with his perfect features.
The moment Joey saw him, he tried to yank me to my feet, but Dante’s gaze had already locked onto our corner of the room.
He saw me, kneeling pathetically on the floor. He saw my torn dress. He saw the red handprint on my cheek.
His expression shifted instantly. The impassive mask cracked, replaced by a terrifying stillness.
The little boy beside Dante saw me on the ground and immediately broke free from his father’s grasp.
His tiny legs carried him across the room as fast as they could go.
He threw himself down beside me, his voice breaking with tears as he called out in his clear, childish tone: “Mama!”
At the sound of the word, Angelo rushed over, pointing a trembling finger at Matteo. “What are you talking about? She’s my mom!”
The entire hall fell deathly silent.
Joey froze, his voice cracking as he stared at the boy. “Did he just say… Mama?”
