Chapter 5 - THE FRICTION OF SILVER
The father did not look at his mother.
He did not look at the cardboard boxes.
A younger man in a tuxedo—a wedding planner or an associate of the bride—stepped forward, raising a hand in a placating gesture.
The father’s arm moved in a blinding, horizontal blur.
His massive fist rotated as it flew through the air, generating terrifying kinetic energy.
The knuckles connected directly with the younger man's cheekbone.
CRACK.
The sound of bone fracturing snapped through the ballroom like a fired pistol.
The younger man’s feet left the marble floor entirely.
He crashed backward into a linen-draped table, sending champagne flutes shattering onto the ground.
The blonde woman shrieked, taking two frantic steps backward.
She tripped over the edge of the purple nylon backpack and nearly fell.
The father stood perfectly still in the aftermath of the violence.
His breathing remained slow, deep, and entirely controlled.
He raised his right hand, bringing it up to chest level.
On his index finger sat a massive, square-cut silver ring studded with black diamonds.
He slowly gripped the thick metal band with his left thumb and forefinger.
He twisted the ring exactly ninety degrees.
The metal scraped against his skin with a quiet, rough friction.
He adjusted the jewelry as calmly as a man checking the time on a Sunday afternoon.
He lowered his hands.
His cold, dark eyes finally locked onto the terrified blonde woman.
May you like
He gave a barely perceptible nod to the four guards holding the cardboard boxes.
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