They say silence is golden, but at the Romano estate, it was a warning.
Dinner was deadly quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that came from peace—but the kind that made you want to choke.
My father sat at the head of the table, cutting into his steak with so much force it was as if the meat had insulted him.
I kept my mouth shut. I knew better than to speak because Vincenzo Romano was not a man you questioned. His mere presence demanded obedience, but tonight… even his silence felt unnatural.
His jaw was tight, his eyes cold and distant, like he wasn't really in the room with me. He reached for his wine again—and again—more often than I'd ever seen. The man who had taught me to never lose control… was barely holding it together.
And the worst part?
I could smell the rosemary and garlic, my favorite, but the scent made bile rise in my throat. My stomach knew what my heart didn't want to admit—something was coming.
I cleared my throat gently. "You've barely eaten… and I made your favorite today," I said, my voice fragile as if I was walking on thin ice which I was but my father didn't even reply or react, he barely even looked at who was talking to him
I opened my mouth again, more hesitant this time—but I never got the chance to speak because the dining room doors slammed open, smashing against the walls.
All I could hear was the deafening sound of gunshots as I screamed. My fork dropped, clattering against my plate.
A man walked in, his presence sucking all the oxygen from the room leaving me completely breathless.
He was extremely tall and looked lethal. He was obviously the kind of man who could make a room full of people fall silent without uttering a single word.
He didn't speak, didn't have to. The man carried silence like a crown, and the room bowed to it. His black shirt clung to his frame like it was stitched onto muscles. Tattoos curled down his forearms like secrets he would never share. A silver chain glinted at his collarbone, resting above a glimpse of ink on bronze skin.
His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms that were still inked with intricate tattoos. He walked like a man with purpose with each step measured, controlled, like a man who knew he owned the ground he walked on.
His face was devastatingly sharp, chiseled from stone, with a five o'clock shadow casting over his angular jawline. His lips were pressed into a firm line, but his eyes were the most dangerous thing about him. They were cold and dark and I couldn't look away.
He held his gun very loosely and this made me know that it was almost decorative because he was the real weapon.
My father paled as the color drained from his face, and for the first time in my life, I saw fear in my father's eyes.
His hands were curled into fists on the table, the veins in his forearms pulsing as if he was restraining himself from reacting too quickly.
Vincenzo Romano—the man who made monsters flinch—was afraid.
The stranger stopped a few feet from the table. A smirk ghosted across his lips, sharp and cruel.
"Romano," he said with a mocking lilt. "Your grace period is over."
My father's hands curled into fists on the table. "Not in front of my daughter, Don," he muttered. Was that… pleading in his voice?
The man only smirked as my father pleaded.
The Don's cold dead eyes shifted to me and everything inside me froze.
He tilted his head, like I was something he had just remembered… or discovered, I couldn't move… couldn't even breathe because the way he looked at me sent a shiver down my spine.
All I could do was stare into those cold, merciless eyes. My world was spinning because there was a man with a gun in my house and I had no idea what to do next.
"I didn't know the infamous Romano had a daughter," he said slowly, his voice rough velvet. "Pretty. Extremely pretty."
His smile widened just a little as he said the next line of words that would shatter my world completely:
"Maybe I'll collect the debt… a different way."