Chapter 8 - The Sentence
Massimo walked over to the edge of the brass wreckage. He did not look down with disgust; he looked down with absolute, clinical detachment.
He planted the polished toe of his leather shoe onto Grant’s chest, directly over the bruised sternum, pressing down just enough to make the younger man scream through gritted, bloody teeth.
Massimo leaned down, his eyes pitch-black, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of every witness's neck stand up.
"You beat my daughter behind closed doors?"
Massimo pressed harder. Grant let out a strangled, bubbling shriek.
"You put your hands on my granddaughter and forced her to hide her blood beneath wool so you could play the gentleman in public?"
Massimo reached down with his left hand, plucked the red wine glass from the nearby table, and tipped it over Grant’s face. The red wine poured over Grant’s eyes and mouth, and the two jagged halves of the broken yellow star clattered onto his bruised cheek.
"You're completely finished," Massimo whispered into his ear. "Your name, your money, your freedom, your breath. You will beg for a prison cell before I am done with you."
May you like
Massimo stepped off him, adjusted his cuffs, and turned his back on the wreckage.
"Seal this hotel," he said to his second bodyguard. "Bring my daughter."
