The King’s Justice
268 Words
Valerius did not stop until he was inches from Elara. The heat radiating from him was a physical force, a wall of pure, masculine energy that acted as a shield against the biting Madrid wind. Behind him, his men—broad-shouldered, stone-faced warriors in leather and wool—formed a semi-circle, effectively cordoning off the "elite" guests of the gala as if they were nothing more than bothersome cattle.
Marcus, finally finding his voice, stepped forward. He straightened his tuxedo jacket, trying to summon the arrogance that usually worked on his subordinates at the firm. "Look, I don't know who you are or what this theatrical display is about, but you’re interfering with a private event. That woman is a disbarred felon. My security—"
Valerius tilted his head, a slow, predatory movement. He didn't look at Marcus; he looked through him. "Your security is currently face-down in the parking garage," Valerius said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that carried a "God-like" authority, vibrating through the pavement. "And as for who I am... I am the man who holds the deed to every building on this block, including the one you’re standing in front of. Silence yourself before I decide you’re an eyesore I no longer wish to tolerate."
The crowd gasped. The paparazzi, sensing a scandal of historic proportions, began to swarm, their flashes strobing like lightning against the dark sky. Marcus turned a deep shade of purple, his mouth hanging open, while Sofia clutched his arm, her eyes darting between Valerius and the broken sister she had just insulted.
- Writer
