The bathroom door shuddered as Trent slammed his shoulder into it again.
Sylvia Grimaldi pressed her back against the wood, her left arm throbbing inside the sling.
She could hear the lock straining with every hit.
“Nobody is coming for you this time,” Trent laughed from the other side.
His voice was calm. Confident.
Like he had already won.
Sylvia didn’t answer.
She lifted her phone with her one good hand and her fingers barely shook as she made the call.
“Alessio… upstairs.”
Just two words.
Seconds later the lock gave way and the door burst open.
Trent stepped toward her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
He thought she was alone. He thought she was helpless.
He never got to touch her.
Alessio Grimaldi was already behind him.
In one smooth, brutal motion he grabbed his brother-in-law by the shoulder and yanked him back.
He pushed Sylvia safely behind him and planted himself between them.
Trent snarled and swung with everything he had.
Alessio didn’t even flinch.
He dropped Trent hard into the club’s wall of liquor display.
Glass exploded. Bottles shattered and liquor poured across the floor.
Trent hit the ground in a heap of broken glass and pure rage.
Before anyone could breathe, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Raymond.
Trent’s father.
He rushed into the upstairs corridor, eyes blazing, ready to intervene for his son.
Two security men moved in right behind father and son, closing off the hallway.
Trent scrambled to his feet, wiping his mouth, his face twisted with fury that anyone had dared to lay a hand on him.
He jabbed a finger at Alessio like the name alone should be a threat.
“How dare you hit me? Do you know who my father is?”
The entire corridor went silent.
Alessio didn’t step back.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He just looked slowly at Trent.
Then at Raymond.
And the next words he spoke made the air freeze.
“I don’t, but your father probably knows who I am!”
His voice never rose.
It was quiet. Even. Absolute.
For the first time that night, Trent stopped looking angry.
He looked afraid.
Not because he had been thrown across the room.
But because of the way Alessio said it.
As if the punch had settled absolutely nothing.
As if what was coming next would be far worse than a fight.
Raymond’s face went pale.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t step forward to defend his son.
He just stared at Alessio like he had seen a ghost and his mouth couldn’t form a word.
The two security men froze in place, suddenly unsure who they were supposed to protect.
And in that shattered upstairs corridor, with glass crunching under their shoes and Sylvia standing silent behind her brother, nobody could tell what Alessio Grimaldi intended to do next.
