Signore Moretti's hand shot out like a viper, striking Cristiano with a loud crack that echoed through the villa. A vein throbbed in his temple, pulsing with fury. Cristiano's head snapped back, his eyes wide with shock. A metallic taste filled his mouth as blood welled up in the corner of his lip, trickling down his jaw and onto the marble floor. He winced, his hand instinctively rising to cradle the stinging heat on his cheek.
Signora Moretti, her face as white as the starched tablecloth, flinched at the violence. Her eyes squeezed shut, a silent plea escaping her lips. The familiar urge to rush to Cristiano's side, a shield against his father's wrath, battled with a cold dread that coiled in her gut. Her hands, usually quick to comfort, clenched into fists at her sides.
