Chapter 5 - A Clash of Kings
The elevator doors at the end of the executive hallway opened with a soft, melodic chime.
Adrien Vale stepped out, his expression a mixture of minor annoyance and elite arrogance. He was flanked by two plainclothes officers from the state judicial protection detail—men whose badges gave them the authority to carry weapons into private buildings.
Arya stepped out of Matteo's office just as Adrien reached the reception desk. When Adrien saw her, his eyes flared with a brief, possessive anger before he smoothed his expression into a polite smile.
“Arya, darling,” Adrien said, his voice loud enough to echo down the corridor. “You aren't answering your phone. My mother has been waiting at the restaurant for forty minutes. I had to come get you myself.”
“I’m sorry, Adrien,” Arya said, her voice dropping into that terrified, compliant tone that Matteo hated. “The Q3 audits took longer than expected.”
Adrien walked forward, reaching out to grab her upper arm. His grip looked casual, but Matteo, who had followed Arya out of the office, saw the immediate whitening of Adrien’s knuckles as he dug his fingers into the exact spot where the old bruises were hidden.
Arya let out a tiny, involuntary gasp of pain.
“Let go of her,” Matteo said.
The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of an execution order. The two judicial officers immediately shifted their weight, their hands moving closer to their jackets where their service weapons were concealed.
Adrien turned to look at Matteo, his smile turning condescending. “Excuse me, Mr. Valente? I'm just taking my fiancée to a family dinner. I appreciate you keeping her late for your business, but her priorities belong to her future family now.”
Matteo didn't look at the officers. He walked forward until he was standing directly in front of Adrien, forcing the surgeon to step back or risk a physical collision. Matteo was broader, taller, and carried the unmistakable aura of a man who had survived machete fights in Sicilian alleys.
“I don't care about your dinner, Doctor,” Matteo said, his eyes locked onto Adrien's with a predatory focus. “I care about my staff. And right now, your hand is on my executive secretary, and she looks uncomfortable.”
Adrien laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound. “She’s tired from working for a man who doesn't understand standard labor hours. Come along, Arya.” He pulled her arm slightly harder.
Matteo didn't hesitate. He reached out, his hand wrapping around Adrien’s wrist like a steel manacle. With a fraction of his strength, he twisted Adrien’s arm away from Arya, forcing the surgeon to release her.
“Sir, step back!” one of the judicial officers shouted, drawing his firearm halfway out of his holster.
In an instant, four of Matteo's plainclothes security guards emerged from the side doors, their weapons drawn and leveled directly at the officers' heads. The standoff was instantaneous, the air in the hallway turning electric.
Adrien stumbled back, clutching his wrist, his face flush with humiliation. “You’re insane,” he hissed at Matteo. “You just ordered your thugs to point guns at state officers. My father will have a RICO indictment on your desk by Monday morning.”
“Tell your father to write it himself,” Matteo said, his voice entirely devoid of fear. He stepped in front of Arya, completely shielding her body with his own. “But if you ever bring weapons into my tower again, you won't leave in a limousine. You'll leave in an ambulance. Get out of my sight.”
Adrien looked at the guns pointed at his guards, then at Matteo’s cold, murderous expression. He realized he didn't hold the cards in this room. He sneered, adjusting his cuffs.
May you like
“We’re leaving, Arya,” Adrien snapped, turning toward the elevator. “And when you come home tonight, we are going to have a very long conversation about your employment.”
He stepped into the elevator with his guards, the doors closing between them like a guillotine.
