Chapter 4 - The First Test
Two weeks into their marriage, the real world came knocking. The annual Boston Elite Charity Gala was being hosted downtown. Arthur Sterling’s absence would be noted, but Julian Rossi’s presence with Arthur’s daughter would send a definitive message to the underworld and the high society elite: The transfer of power was complete.
Julian walked into Clara’s room. She was sitting at the vanity, staring at a breathtaking midnight-blue gown Maria had laid out. It had a high neck, long sleeves, and a solid, unyielding back that covered every inch of her skin. Julian had explicitly ordered it customized.
"You don't have to go," Julian said, leaning against the doorframe. "I can handle the press. I can say you fell ill."
Clara looked at his reflection in the mirror. She remembered the terror of her wedding day, but she also remembered the way he had backed away when he saw her scars.
"If I don't go, my father will think he still controls me," Clara said softly. She stood up. "I'll go."
At the gala, the ballroom fell dead silent when Julian and Clara entered. Cameras flashed like lightning. Julian kept a respectful distance, but his hand hovered just behind her waist, a constant, solid shield between her and the crowd.
Halfway through the evening, a drunk, arrogant senator—one of Arthur’s old cronies—approached them.
"Clara, darling," the senator slurred, grabbing her wrist tightly. "Your father is terribly worried about you. Being dragged into this mobster's bed..."
Clara froze, the phantom pain of a man's grip sending her into a panic.
Before she could pull away, Julian’s hand clamped down on the senator’s wrist with the force of a hydraulic press. The sickening crack of bone echoed over the classical music.
The senator dropped to his knees, screaming in agony.
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Julian stepped over him, shielding Clara entirely with his body. "If you ever touch my wife again," Julian whispered, his voice carrying an icy promise of death, "I will take the rest of your limbs. Do you understand?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Julian gently took Clara’s uninjured hand and led her out of the ballroom. In the back of the armored Maybach, Clara looked at Julian’s clenched jaw. He hadn't hurt the man for his pride. He had hurt him for her.
