The Mafia Queen's Gambit

The scar-faced man froze, his eyes darting to the large wedding photo in the center of the banquet hall.

My smile and Roderick's were stiffly pressed together in the image.

He slapped his forehead, regret flooding his mind. "We got it wrong! We didn't mean to ruin your engagement banquet!"

As he spoke, Erica, hiding behind Roderick, stiffened, instinctively clutching his sleeve.

The scar-faced man's gaze locked onto her, and he roared with fury. "She's the one we're after! She had her bodyguards rip my girlfriend's dress! We only came to get revenge on her!"

The truth came to light, and Erica panicked.

She grabbed Roderick's arm, her eyes red as she pleaded. " No, Roderick, she took it off herself. I didn't…"

"Shut up!" I cut her off coldly, turning to Jones, who stood nearby.

Jones understood instantly and signaled the security to guide the shaken guests out through a side door.

I tilted my chin toward the scar-faced man. "Since it's a misunderstanding, we still need to settle the score. Go tear her clothes, and we'll call it even."

The scar-faced man hesitated, then his eyes gleamed with malice.

The moment my men released him, he lunged forward and grabbed Erica's collar.

Erica screamed for Roderick's help, but my men had already pinned his arms, a knee pressed into his lower back, forcing him to the floor.

Roderick shouted in rage, powerless to change the situation.

Only when Erica's gown was torn to shreds did the scar-faced man step back, satisfied.

Erica, humiliated, yanked a tablecloth to cover herself, sobbing uncontrollably.

I approached the scar-faced man, my voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight. "The dress issue is settled, but you crashed my engagement banquet. How do we settle that?"

His face paled, and he began to beg for mercy.

I didn't respond, only taking a hammer from my assistant and weighing it in my hand, my gaze sweeping over the thugs. "Each of you, break three of your own fingers. If you refuse, I know some mercenary brokers. The fiercest battlefields always need bodies. You won't come back. But don't worry—if you die, your families might get a payout. At least you won't die for nothing."

I shrugged and tossed the hammer to the ground.

The thugs' faces turned ashen, despair settling in as they eyed the armed mafia soldiers surrounding them.

The scar-faced man gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, sweat dripping down his face. Finally, he bent down and picked up the hammer.

His trembling hand pressed against the marble floor, and with a closed-eyed swing, he smashed down.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the hall as blood seeped from his fingers.

The other thugs, seeing this, reluctantly grabbed hammers, their screams rising and falling, thickening the air with tension.

I signaled my men to release Roderick. He looked at the gruesome scene, but instead of rushing to Erica, he stumbled toward me, forcing a fawning smile. "Sophia, I was blind. I didn't see Erica's true colors. Don't worry, I'll cut ties with her. She won't bother you again."

I glanced at him, my disdain unhidden. "Roderick, you think groveling now makes a difference? You're as filthy as she is."

His smile froze, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his eyes.

Under my pressure, he clenched his fists, swallowing his emotions.

As expected, seeing my cold expression and no sign of rekindling old feelings, he turned and approached Erica, wrapping her in his suit jacket.

Erica trembled like a leaf, sobbing breathlessly.

As Roderick carefully led her away, her fear faded, replaced by the same venomous resentment as his.

The moment she stepped out of the banquet hall, she muttered to herself. "Sophia, you think this will make me submit? Just wait. I'll make you lose what you care about most!"

She slipped a hand into her pocket, her fingers swiftly typing a message labeled "KM."

After sending it, she nestled back into Roderick's arms, her sobs masking the scheming in her eyes.

I watched their retreating figures, my hand tapping lightly at my side. My assistant raised my phone, the screen displaying real-time monitoring of Erica's message.

Outside the banquet hall, at a street corner, a man in a van saw the message on his phone.

He smirked coldly, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and pressed the call button. "Get ready. It's our turn."