Chapter 3

The entire hall fell dead silent in an instant.

SLAM!

The smile on Roger's face froze. He slammed his palm down on the solid wood table so hard that cups and plates rattled and clattered.

"How dare you!" Roger exploded with rage, pointing at Elena and screaming, "You shameless woman! Haven't you brought enough disgrace to the Corleone family already? Kace was willing to overlook the fact that you're a woman with a child, and you still have the nerve to speak up here! You don't get a say in this!"

The old man's face turned dark with fury. He whipped around and roared at Lawrence, "Lawrence! Get that little bastard away from her! I want her out of New York City tonight!"

"Yes, Grandfather!"

Lawrence let out a cold sneer and stormed toward the corner with several security guards.

"Let go of my daughter!" Elena threw herself in front of Anna like a madwoman.

"Get out of the way!" Lawrence shoved Elena aside and grabbed Anna's thin arms, yanking her toward the door.

"Mommy! Mommy, help me! Waaah..." Anna screamed in pain and fought back with everything she had.

Elena's eyes went wild. She lunged at Lawrence and tore into his arm with her nails and teeth.

Lawrence yelped in pain and flung his arm out hard. "Crazy bitch!"

The force of it sent little Anna flying through the air. She crashed onto the cold marble floor two meters away with a heavy thud, and a large welt swelled up on her forehead almost instantly.

"Anna!" Elena let out a piercing scream and tried to rush over.

"Stop it! Stay still!" Brenda grabbed Elena from behind and pinned her down, sobbing, "Elena, don't! Let your brother take her away! Don't let this child hold you back for the rest of your life!"

The relatives packed in the hall watched with cold, detached eyes — some even wore thin smiles of quiet satisfaction.

And then.

A large hand — steady and strong, yet trembling ever so slightly — came to rest gently on Anna's small shoulder.

Brian slowly crouched down.

This was a man who had stared down entire armies on the battlefield without flinching. But now, looking at this little girl covered in dust with a swollen forehead, he felt something twist and drag inside his chest like a dull blade.

"Hey, little one. That looked like it hurt," Brian said, his voice soft and unsteady.

Anna looked up at this stranger through eyes brimming with tears.

His gaze was so warm. Nothing like the harsh, angry faces she was used to.

The little girl stubbornly shook her head and swallowed her tears. "I'm fine... I'm not hurt, mister."

"What's your name? Where are your mom and dad?" Brian reached out with his rough fingers and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"My name is Anna." She timidly pointed toward Elena, who was being held back nearby. "That's my mommy... I — I don't have a daddy."

No daddy.

Those words hit Brian square in the chest like a hammer.

"They all say my daddy was a bad man. A criminal." Anna tugged at the hem of Brian's sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. "But Mommy told me in secret that Daddy wasn't bad. She said he was a real hero. That he just went somewhere far, far away to fight bad people."

Anna tilted her head up, her big bright eyes fixed on Brian. "Mister, who should I believe?"

Brian's throat tightened like something was lodged in it.

He looked at his daughter. Then he looked at the woman who had thrown herself in front of her child without a second thought.

Elena... she had taken every insult, every bit of hatred thrown at her — and she hadn't taught their daughter a single word against him.

"Believe your mom," Brian said, his voice rough and low. "Your daddy... he'll come back. I promise."

"Well, well. Where'd this stray dog crawl in from?" Lawrence sauntered over, rubbing his swollen arm. He looked down and spat on the floor, his face twisted with contempt. "Keep dreaming, you little bastard. Your daddy was nothing but a lowlife rapist. A rapist — called a hero? Now that's the funniest thing I've ever heard! Ha!"

Rapist.

The moment that word left Lawrence's mouth, Brian — still crouched on the floor, his eyes full of warmth just a second ago — went completely still.

Then, slowly, he stood up.

Every trace of softness drained from his face. What replaced it was something cold enough to make your blood run cold.

His eyes looked like they had seen mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. Icy. Savage. Like a starving lone wolf that had just crawled out of hell.

Lawrence's laughter died in his throat.

The moment he met Brian's gaze, it felt like a cold blade had been pressed against his neck.

"What — what are you doing? Why are you staring at me like that?" Lawrence stumbled back three steps on instinct, his face draining of color.

Brian didn't even look at him. He turned back down to Anna.

"Anna — tell me. Is your mommy's name... Elena Corleone?"

Anna shrank back a little, nervous, but nodded. "Yeah. Do you know my mommy, mister?"

"So it really is you two."

Brian closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath.

When he opened them again, he buried the guilt and tenderness deep down where no one could see it.

He turned and looked out at the hall full of well-dressed Corleone family members. He looked at Lawrence — the man who had just thrown his own daughter to the floor. And slowly, the corner of Brian's mouth curved into a smile so cold it could cut glass.

It was the look of a man who had already decided what came next.

Brian straightened up to his full height.

His gaze was terrifying in its stillness. Deep in his eyes, a dark, bloodthirsty red flickered like an ember — the look of a wolf on the open plain, finally pushed past the point of no return.

Lawrence felt his skin crawl under that stare, but then he remembered the dozen-plus hotel security guards standing behind him, and his nerve came back.

He puffed himself up and jabbed a finger at Brian. "The hell are you? Some broke-ass nobody waltzing in here trying to be a hero? Get lost!"

And to be fair — Brian did look out of place. He was wearing a plain desert camo uniform, no rank insignia, no unit patches, and a pair of worn-out military boots that had seen better days. Standing in that glittering banquet hall, he looked more like a construction worker who'd wandered in off the street than anything else.

Brian didn't bother responding to the insult. He just stared at Lawrence, his voice low and flat:

"You... actually put your hands on them."

As America's deadliest soldier, Brian had walked through hell more times than he could count. The enemies who had died at his hands could have filled a reinforced battalion.

And now, looking at his daughter lying on the floor — every last bit of restraint snapped.