Chapter 185

Chapter 185

Alberta stared at her companions crumpled on the floor, real fear finally flickering in her eyes.

She stumbled backward until her spine hit the cold wall.

"Don't—don't come any closer!" Her voice trembled as she fumbled for her phone. "I'm calling the police! I'll have you arrested! I'm a Medici heiress—if you lay a finger on me, my family will make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life!"

"The police?" I let out a cold laugh. In Europe, the Medicis certainly had enough clout to manipulate law enforcement. But she'd picked the wrong target—and played the wrong card.

Without another word, I closed the distance between us, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her face close to mine.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had.

Alberta shrieked. Her lip split open instantly.

I didn't stop. I drove my fist into her stomach with brutal precision.

She doubled over with a choked gasp, retching violently. A mouthful of blood-streaked saliva splattered onto the Persian rug.

I released her hair. She collapsed like a broken doll.

I stood over her, my gaze sharp as a blade.

"Listen carefully, Alberta." I planted my heel on the back of her hand and pressed down slowly. Her screams filled the room. "I don't care if you're a Medici or the Queen of England. If you ever show your face in front of me again—if you ever harass me again—I promise you, next time I'll throw you off the Grossmünster bell tower myself."

Alberta convulsed in pain.

Her meticulously styled blonde hair was plastered to her swollen, tear-streaked face with cold sweat.

She finally understood: the woman standing over her didn't play by the unspoken rules of European high society.

In the slums, there were only two currencies—violence and dominance.

"Do you understand?" I pressed my heel down harder.

"Yes! Yes!" Alberta screamed, her voice raw with genuine terror. Tears mixed with blood smeared across her ruined face. "Please—I won't do it again!"

I lifted my foot with a snort of disgust.

Alberta scrambled onto her hands and knees, not even bothering to grab her Hermès bag as she crawled toward the door. Her three equally terrified companions rushed to help her, and together they fled the VIP lounge in a chaotic stumble.

The door swung open just as two figures appeared in the doorway.

Vincent stood there, one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket, sliding his phone away with the other.

My mother walked beside him, holding a delicate pastry box embossed with a boutique bakery logo.

Alberta froze when she saw Vincent. She pressed herself against the wall like she'd seen a ghost and bolted past him, her heels clattering unevenly on the marble. Her retreat was pitiful.

Vincent stopped in his tracks.

His sharp gaze swept the VIP lounge—the overturned chairs, the bloodstained crystal ashtray, the crimson smears on the rug.

His dark eyes turned glacial. A terrifying aura of violence radiated from him.

He strode into the room and reached me in three long steps, his large hands gripping my shoulders as his eyes raked over me from head to toe.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was taut as a wire. His gaze lingered on a slight wrinkle in my dress. "Did that rabid bitch Alberta come after you again? Did she touch you?"

"No." I leaned back against the sofa and pulled his hands down, threading my fingers through his. "I'm fine. She brought three friends. I handled all of them. The blood on the floor is hers."

The tension in Vincent's jaw eased slightly.

But the murderous glint in his eyes didn't fade. He turned to the bodyguard stationed outside. "Antonio, bring her back."

"Don't bother." I placed a hand on his arm. "I've already taught her a lesson."

My mother walked in, still holding the pastry box. She glanced at the blood on the floor, then recalled Alberta's pig-like swollen face from moments ago. Her expression darkened instantly.

She set the box on the coffee table and sat down beside me.

The gentle, elegant matriarch transformed before my eyes—now she radiated the absolute authority of the Colonna family's lady.

"That was Alberta Medici," my mother said, her voice tight with controlled fury. "While I was queuing at the patisserie across the street, I overheard some socialites gossiping. Alberta hired a troll farm on X. She's been spreading that jewelry store video everywhere and fabricating vicious lies about you—claiming you're some bottom-feeding call girl who slept her way to the top."

I raised an eyebrow.

So that's why Alberta had the guts to come after me today. She thought she'd won the PR war.

"Selena." My mother's hand closed over mine, her eyes ice-cold. "You are a daughter of the Colonna family. The Medicis are nothing. How dare they sling mud at you? Don't worry about this. I'll make them pay."

Without hesitation, my mother pulled out her phone and dialed my father.

She said only two sentences. "Alberta and her friends cornered Selena today. I want the Medici family erased from Europe."

She hung up and turned back to me, the cold fury melting into a warm, gentle smile.

She opened the pastry box and lifted out an exquisite chestnut mousse.

"Here, sweetheart. Try this. You used to love their mousse when you were little."

I watched the lightning-fast shift in her expression and felt an odd mixture of amusement and something deeper—an unfamiliar sense of security.

That evening, the Colonna estate.

The master bedroom's fireplace crackled softly, burning pine logs that filled the room with warmth.

I was curled up against Vincent in a silk nightgown. He leaned against the headboard, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding a tablet as he reviewed financial reports from the European division.

On the projection screen ahead of us, Casablanca played in black and white.

I scrolled idly through my phone.

X was on fire.

In just a few hours, the narrative had flipped completely.

Every video of me from the jewelry store had vanished. In their place, several explosive trending topics dominated the homepage.

#AlbertaYachtPartyVideo

#MediciTaxFraudScandal

#ItalianJusticeDeptInvestigatesMediciMoneyLaundering

I clicked on the first hashtag.

A crystal-clear video began to play. Alberta and several notorious European playboys were on a private yacht, engaged in a debauched party that crossed every conceivable line. The table was littered with illegal substances.

The footage was unblurred. Alberta's face was perfectly clear.

The comment section had imploded. The same people who'd been attacking me hours ago were now tearing Alberta apart.

I kept scrolling.

The real death blow was the Medici family scandal.

X had leaked dozens of highly detailed internal financial documents and wire transfer records—ironclad proof of a decade-long international tax evasion and money laundering operation tied to organized crime.

The Italian Justice Department had formed a special task force overnight.

Several Medici-owned public companies saw their stock prices plummet 40% in pre-market trading.

Multiple partner banks announced they were freezing the family's credit lines.