Chapter 8 - Blood on the Marble Hearth
Before Salvatore could level the weapon, I didn't think; I acted on pure, protective instinct.
I grabbed the heavy silver ice bucket from the nearest waiter's tray and hurled it with all my strength directly into Salvatore's face.
The heavy bucket struck his temple with a sickening crunch, sending ice, champagne, and blood spraying across the red carpet.
The gun discharged wildly, the bullet shattering a decorative plaster sconce on the wall ten feet above our heads.
Salvatore stumbled sideways, and in that split second, Massimo’s fist connected with his jaw with the concussive force of a sledgehammer.
Salvatore crashed heavily over a banquet table, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of broken glass and overturned centerpieces.
Three federal marshals immediately pinned him to the carpet, wrenching his arms behind his back and securing heavy steel restraints.
Adriana was sobbing hysterically as two female agents cuffed her, dragging her past the flashing cameras of the socialite press.
"Get them out of my sight," Massimo commanded, his voice shaking the grand chandeliers overhead.
The ballroom was an absolute madhouse of sirens, security officers, and fleeing patrons.
Massimo ignored the chaotic press, turning his entire focus onto me.
His dark hair was ruffled, his tuxedo lapel dusted with plaster, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.
He reached out, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush against his body with an intensity that knocked the air from my lungs.
"Did you get hit?" he demanded, his hands frantically scanning my arms, my shoulders, my face. "Sophie, are you bleeding?!"
"I'm fine, Massimo," I gasped, my hands resting against his pounding chest. "I'm not hit. I just threw a champagne bucket at a mafia boss."
A low, rumbling laugh escaped Massimo’s throat—a sound so rich, genuine, and filled with breathtaking relief that it stopped me in my tracks.
"You threw an ice bucket at Salvatore Vitali," he repeated, shaking his head in absolute wonder.
"He was trying to shoot you!" I argued, my voice cracking as the adrenaline began to subside into trembling shock.
Massimo framed my face with his large, warm hands, his dark eyes burning with an emotion so fierce and raw it made my knees weak.
"Nobody has ever stood between me and a bullet in my entire life, Sophie," he whispered, his thumb caressing my cheek.
"You could have run. You could have hidden behind the pillars."
"I don't run from people who protect my family," I said softly, looking into the eyes of the man I had once thought was a heartless monster.
Massimo leaned down, right there in the middle of the ruined ballroom, surrounded by federal agents, flashing cameras, and shattered crystal.
He captured my lips in a deep, breathtaking kiss that sealed our fate in front of the entire city of Chicago.
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It wasn't a performance for his grandmother, and it wasn't a contractual defense against the council.
It was the kiss of a king who had finally found the queen he would spend the rest of his life serving.
