Chapter 2
The boy didn't flinch under the stare of eighty powerful people. He walked into the center of the hall with his chin up, looking around like an heir.
Marco stepped out of the study hallway right on cue. He didn't look shocked, and he didn't look guilty.
He walked straight toward Sofia as if this moment had been rehearsed for weeks. He stopped right beside her and looked down at the child.
"Daddy!" The boy's voice was high and clear, cutting through the silence of the room. "The car was freezing, Daddy."
Daddy. The word dropped onto the marble floor like a live grenade. The wives pulled their silk napkins to their faces, and the dock bosses froze.
Sofia had been an open secret in Marco's shadow for two years. Now he was dragging her child into the light on Christmas Eve to bury my marriage.
Sofia glided toward the head table and tossed her white fur wrap to a waiter. Beneath it, she wore an emerald velvet gown with a sculpted neckline.
My chest tightened at the sight of the dark green fabric. It was the exact custom gown I had ordered from Milan two months ago.
The boutique had claimed the dress was lost in shipping. Now it was wrapped tightly around Marco's mistress in front of my guests.
Sofia stopped right beside the Don's seat and rested her hand on the velvet chair. "Good evening, Elena," she purred with a sweet, mocking smile.
"I hope you don't mind," Sofia added, loud enough for half the room to hear. "Nico gets so nervous in crowds without his father."
Marco didn't even glance in my direction. He pulled out my chair with one smooth motion and lifted the boy onto the plush cushion.
Sofia took the seat right beside the child, settling in under the crystal chandelier. Marco took the head of the table, completing the little family portrait.
Marco picked up a silver butter knife and tapped his crystal flute twice. Clink. Clink. The sharp sound echoed through the frozen room like a death knell.
"Nico carries Russo blood," Marco announced, his voice booming with authority. "From tonight on, this table is his. He sits with me, and this family claims him."
The Capos lowered their heads in silence, accepting the decree. Marco turned his cold eyes across the table, pointing his glass straight at me.
"Elena, pour yourself a drink," Marco ordered in front of everyone. "Stand up and toast to the boy."
He wanted my public surrender in front of eighty witnesses. He wanted me to bow my head and bless his mistress's child, validating his betrayal.
I stood tall under the bright lights, my fingers steady as I lifted a full glass of red wine. I met Marco's gaze, took a slow breath, and turned the glass completely upside down.
Dark red wine crashed onto the pristine white tablecloth, spreading like a fresh pool of blood. "I don't toast to thieves, Marco," I said clearly.
A collective gasp tore through the hall as Marco's jaw snapped shut with murderous fury. His knuckles turned bone-white against the stem of his glass.
The room was frozen on Marco's rage. But standing so close to the back door, I heard it. A woman's smothered sob, hidden in the dark hallway.