A surge of anger rose within me, sharp and undeniable. Without thinking, I tore off my designer coat, the one worth tens of thousands of laundered dollars, and flung it straight into a nearby trash can. The movement was abrupt, decisive. Then I stepped forward, locking my gaze onto Serafina, my voice steady despite everything.
"You should really ask Damian who the real goomah is," I said coldly, each word clear and firm, "before you start throwing accusations around like that."
The moment the words left my mouth, Serafina's expression twisted with rage. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and struck me hard across the face. The impact rang out loudly, echoing through the crowd. Two of her escort soldiers shifted but didn't intervene. They had their orders.
"Do you even need to ask?" she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. "Today is my wedding day with Damian! Isn't that obvious enough for you?"
Her anger only grew as she pointed toward my car, her voice rising higher. "I hate goomahs. Every single one of them deserves to be punished!"
Before anyone could react, she pulled out a key and viciously dragged it across the surface of my armored town car. The harsh scratching sound cut through the air as the words "Goomah, die!" were carved into the paint. One of the valets near the cathedral steps looked away. Nobody moved to stop her.
I stared at the jagged letters etched across the glossy surface, a chill creeping down my spine. For a brief moment, everything felt strangely distant. Then I looked up at her again, my voice calm but carrying an edge. "You'll soon realize just how ironic those words are."
Her fury only intensified at my response. "You shameless woman!" she screamed. "You steal my husband and then dare to mock me?"
Her eyes flicked toward the car again, her expression turning almost nauseated. "Just thinking about my husband's car being touched by someone like you makes me sick!"
Without another word, she bent down, grabbed a brick from the ground, and began smashing it against my car. The first strike shattered the window, glass scattering everywhere. Then came the headlights, the hood, every part she could reach. She showed no restraint, no hesitation. Her dress smoothed under one frantic palm between strikes, but she didn't stop.
"Serafina is going to be the donna of the entire Vescari operation!" someone in the crowd shouted excitedly. "We can't let her be disrespected by someone like Bianca!"
As if that single sentence gave them permission, the crowd surged forward. People picked up whatever they could find: stones, sticks, even metal rods, and joined in the destruction. The sound of smashing glass and tearing metal filled the air. After breaking the windows, some of them even climbed inside, ripping apart the seats and wrecking the interior with wild abandon. The cathedral security detail watched from the steps and did nothing. In this neighborhood, the guest list was the law.
In a matter of moments, my pristine town car was reduced to a mangled wreck.
I stood there, watching them with a cold, unblinking gaze. There was no panic, no pleading. Only a quiet, chilling calm. My thumb found the jagged edge of my Blackwood's cross beneath my collar, pressing hard enough to feel the metal bite. "I hope when it's time for you to pay for all of this," I said slowly, "you'll still be this enthusiastic about taking responsibility."
But my words meant nothing to them. It was as if I didn't exist at all.
At that moment, one of Serafina's lackeys pried open the trunk and suddenly shouted, "Hey! Look at this! She's got a bunch of expensive stuff hidden in here!"
Serafina immediately walked over, curiosity flashing in her eyes. She reached inside and pulled out a painting, examining it briefly before letting out a mocking laugh. "A woman who sells herself trying to act like a collector?" she sneered. "Give me a break."
I couldn't help but speak, my tone low but firm. "Those items are worth far more than the car. Especially that painting. You'd better be careful."
