Mob Boss's Daughter Slapped By Lieutenant – His Revenge Shocks Everyone!

The violent act hung in the air, a palpable wave of shock rippling through the few patrons present. Tommy stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat, her split lip beginning to bleed. She leaned against a rough wooden pillar, the rough grain a grounding sensation against her trembling body. Her gaze flickered towards the back booth, where Edward Sterling, a man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure, sat like a granite statue. At 54, his scarred jaw and piercing steel-grey eyes held a lethal intensity. He hadn't moved, but his stillness was more terrifying than any outburst. Slowly, deliberately, he placed a heavy crystal tumbler down on the table, the dull thud resonating with quiet authority. His predatory eyes, previously fixed on the rain-streaked window, now locked onto Vivian Beaumont. The air crackled with unspoken threat. "You just signed your own death warrant, Vivian," Sterling’s voice was a low, terrifying growl, devoid of emotion but heavy with menace. The words struck Beaumont like a physical blow. Her arrogant sneer faltered, her jaw clenched, and a bead of cold sweat traced a path down her temple. The confident facade crumbled, replaced by a flicker of raw fear. Sterling rose from his seat, his midnight-blue cashmere overcoat flowing around him like a shroud. He moved with a speed that defied his age and imposing frame, his lethal poise radiating outwards. He intercepted Beaumont’s desperate, instinctive reach for his shoulder holster, his massive, gloved hand clamping around her throat with crushing force. With terrifying ease, he lifted her off her feet, her struggles growing frantic as her airway was compressed. His voice, a venomous, gravelly growl, echoed in the suddenly silent tavern: "You dare raise a hand against someone under my roof?" Beaumont’s eyes bulged, his breath hitching in a desperate, silent plea as he flailed, completely at Sterling’s mercy.