"And I don't recall my nanny wearing a diamond ring that leaves deep scratches on a baby's skin."
Serena’s heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her wrist felt as though it were clamped in a steel vise. She tried to pull back, but Dante’s grip was absolute, immovable, and cold as ice.
"Dante, please! You're misunderstanding!" Serena whimpered, tears of real panic finally welling in her eyes as her aristocratic facade completely crumbled. "I was just trying to discipline him! He was being unruly! A boy of his status needs to learn obedience—"
"He is fourteen months old," Dante interrupted, his voice dropping into a register so dark and lethal that even the guards standing outside the entryway stiffened. "He does not need 'discipline.' He needs a mother. Something you clearly proved you will never be."
With a flick of his wrist, Dante shoved Serena away. She stumbled backward, her high heels catching on the hem of her silk gown, and crashed heavily onto the marble floor—right beside the cold spot where Clara was sitting up, nursing her bruised stomach.
Dante turned his attention to Clara. The icy rage in his hazel eyes softened, replaced by a quiet, profound respect as he looked at the young nanny. He saw the red, swollen imprint of a heel on her linen uniform and the scrape marks on her knees.
"Clara," Dante said softly, his voice low and steady. "Did she lay a hand on you as well?"
Clara swallowed hard, clutching her stomach as she looked up at the man who commanded the city's dark underbelly. She didn't hesitate.
"She kicked me in the stomach when I tried to pull Leo away from her, Mr. Moretti," Clara answered, her voice trembling but clear. "And she threatened to make me disappear if I ever told you what she does when you're away on business."
Serena gasped, scrambling onto her hands and knees. "She's lying! She's a gold-digger trying to drive us apart! Dante, look at her! She's a nobody!"
Dante didn't even turn his head toward Serena. Instead, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers once.
The heavy double doors swung open wider, and four muscular men in sharp black suits stepped into the foyer. Among them was Marco, Dante’s most trusted lieutenant and head of security.
"Marco," Dante commanded, his tone calm and chillingly precise. "Take my son and Clara upstairs immediately. Have the family physician examine Leo's arm and check Clara for internal injuries. If either of them needs hospital care, clear the top floor of Saint Jude's and prepare the convoy."
"Right away, Boss," Marco replied respectfully.
Marco gently guided Clara up from the floor, while a second trusted guard carefully took baby Leo. For a brief second, Leo whimpered at being separated from his father, but Clara leaned in, taking the baby's uninjured hand. "I'm right here, sweetie. You're safe now," she whispered softly. The little boy relaxed, burying his tear-stained face into Clara’s shoulder as they were escorted up the grand staircase.
Once the sound of their footsteps faded into the upper corridor, the atmosphere in the foyer plunged into absolute darkness.
Dante slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket and handed it to a guard. He turned around to face Serena, who was cowering against the base of a marble pillar, her face pale as death.
"D-Dante... what are you going to do?" Serena sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself. "Our families have a contract! Our marriage unites the Montigue and Moretti territories! You can't just break the agreement over a misunderstanding!"
"A contract?" Dante repeated quietly, stepping toward her with the slow, terrifying patience of a predator.
He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a black leather-bound notebook, and tossed it onto the floor in front of her. Serena recognized it instantly—it was the house registry where the estate's private security logs were archived.
"My security team intercepted three calls from your personal phone over the last month," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Calls to your father, discussing how you planned to isolate my son once we were married so he wouldn't inherit the Moretti estate. You didn't just hurt my child out of cruelty, Serena. You were preparing to erase him."
Serena froze, every muscle in her body locking up as her deepest, darkest secret was laid bare.
"I didn't break our agreement, Serena," Dante whispered, bending down until he was staring directly into her terrified eyes. "You violated the only rule that keeps people alive in my world: you touched my family."
The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with Serena’s suffocating dread. She looked up at Dante, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, searching desperately for any lie, any excuse, any leverage to save herself.
"Dante... please," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper as tears ruined her heavy eye makeup. "My father... the Montigue family will declare war on the Moretti syndicate if you do this! You need our political connections! You need our ports!"
Dante let out a low, humorless chuckle that sent a violent shudder down Serena’s spine.
"Your father?" Dante asked smoothly, pulling a crisp linen handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiping his hands. "Your father called me twenty minutes ago. I played him the live audio feed from the foyer’s hidden security mics."
Serena’s heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss.
"He heard you dragging a fourteen-month-old child across the marble," Dante continued, his eyes cold and unblinking. "He heard you threating to make my nanny disappear. And he knows what happens when someone threatens the heir to the Moretti empire."
Dante leaned closer, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet promise. "By now, your father has already stripped you of your name, revoked your trust fund, and severed all ties with you to protect the rest of his family from my wrath. You are completely alone, Serena."
"No... No! He wouldn't!" Serena shrieked, clawing at the stone floor. "You can't do this to me! I'm a Montigue!"
"You are nothing," Dante corrected coldly.
He stood up to his full height, turning his back on her as he gestured to Marco, who had just stepped back down the spiral staircase after ensuring baby Leo and Clara were settled.
"Marco," Dante commanded, his tone completely emotionless. "Hand her over to the federal authorities. Send them the unedited footage of her child abuse, along with the financial paper trail proving her attempted fraud against the Moretti trust."
Serena’s eyes widened in sheer horror. In the mafia world, execution was swift—but being thrown into a federal maximum-security prison, stripped of her luxury, her wealth, and her status, to be tormented by the very public she once looked down upon, was a fate far worse than death for a woman like her.
"No! Kill me! Just kill me, Dante!" Serena screamed hysterically as two heavy-set guards seized her under the arms, hoisting her up off the floor. "Don't send me to prison! Dante! Look at me!"
Her high heels dragged uselessly against the marble, leaving dark scuff marks across the floor as the guards dragged her kicking and screaming toward the rain-slicked courtyard outside. Her frantic pleas faded into the howling autumn wind, cut off abruptly as the massive oak front doors slammed shut.
Silence returned to the foyer.