Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn“Mr. Cipriani!” Jean gushed, practically tripping over his own expensive leather shoes as he hurried across the patio, completely ignoring the tension between Ayla and Matteo. “I didn’t realize you were out here. I’m Jean Dubois, senior director at Dubois Marketing Services. We’ve submitted bids for your commercial real estate portfolios twice—truly an honor to finally cross paths with you.”
Matteo did not turn around immediately. He let the silence stretch out, thick and uncomfortable, until Jean’s sycophantic smile began to falter.
Slowly, Matteo turned his head. His slate-gray eyes swept over Jean with a look of absolute, chilling contempt.
“Jean Dubois,” Matteo said, tasting the name as if it were something foul. “The man who runs a third-rate marketing firm that survives on predatory client acquisition and toxic internal culture.”
Jean’s smile vanished completely, his face turning pale. “I… excuse me, Mr. Cipriani? I’m not sure I—”
“You made my wife very uncomfortable tonight, Dubois.”
The patio went dead silent.
Ayla gasped, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief as she stared up at Matteo. Wife? What is he talking about?
Jean looked like he had just been struck by lightning. He stammered incoherently, his gaze darting wildly between Matteo and Ayla. “W-Wife? I don’t... Ayla is a junior account manager at my firm! She’s not—she’s just an employee!”
“An employee?” Matteo’s voice dropped into a dark, lethal register that made Jean physically recoil. “You humiliated her in front of a room full of sycophants because she chose not to participate in your shallow parade of stolen wealth. You mocked her clothing, questioned her character, and threatened her professional standing.”
“Mr. Cipriani, there’s been a misunderstanding!” Jean panicked, his voice pitching high with terror. “Mabel—Mabel Laurent said—it was just corporate hazing! A joke!”
“A joke,” Matteo repeated coldly.
At that exact moment, heavy footsteps echoed from inside the ballroom. Kyle Torres stepped out onto the balcony, holding a sleek black tablet. He walked straight up to Matteo and handed over the device without a word.
Matteo glanced down at the screen for barely two seconds before looking back up at Jean.
“Interesting,” Matteo murmured softly. “According to this real-time financial audit compiled by my team over the last twenty minutes, Dubois Marketing Services is currently facing federal tax evasion audits, three active breach-of-contract lawsuits from major commercial clients, and an internal embezzlement investigation involving your chief financial officer.”
Jean’s knees literally buckled. He grabbed the edge of the stone balustrade to keep from collapsing, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps. “That’s… that’s impossible! How could you—?”
“In my world, Mr. Dubois, nothing is impossible,” Matteo said, his voice smooth and merciless. “By tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM, my legal team will file injunctions freezing every corporate account your firm holds. By noon, your primary investors will pull out. And by sunset, Dubois Marketing Services will cease to exist.”
“No! Please, Mr. Cipriani! Have mercy!” Jean cried out, his voice cracking as tears of pure panic welled in his eyes. He lunged forward, trying to grab Matteo’s sleeve, but Kyle Torres stepped in between them like a granite wall, his hand resting casually inside his jacket near a hidden holster.
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“You should have shown mercy to the woman standing beside me,” Matteo said flatly. He turned his gaze down to Ayla, his expression softening instantly into something warm and possessive. He reached out, taking her trembling hand in his large, steady palm. “Come, my love. It’s far too noisy out here among the ruins.”
Before Ayla could utter a single word of protest or comprehension, Matteo pulled her gently against his side, guiding her past the utterly shattered form of Jean Dubois and straight through the glass doors into the blinding lights of the grand ballroom.
