Chapter 3 - The Bodyguard's Grip
Instantly, a towering, heavily muscular bodyguard stepped out of the shadows. He wore a black tactical vest over a black dress shirt, his thick dark beard framing a completely emotionless, brutal face.
"Do not let her leave," Alessandro ordered coldly, turning his back on the terrified analyst.
A tight close-up captured the horrifying reality as the massive bodyguard lunged forward. His thick, calloused hand forcefully grabbed Clara’s bare arm with bone-crushing intensity.
Clara flinched violently. She didn't scream for help; she knew absolutely no one in this hotel would dare cross the Moretti family. She clutched the manila folder against her chest in absolute, paralyzing panic, realizing she was about to be dragged into the soundproof basement of a mafia-controlled hotel.
"No, please! Don't touch me!" Clara begged breathlessly, desperately trying to pull her arm free, her navy blue dress twisting awkwardly in the struggle.
But before the bodyguard could haul her toward the service elevator, the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor slowly swung open.
Stepping into the golden light was Victoria.
The bride was in her twenties, impossibly elegant, wearing a lavish, custom-made white wedding gown that dragged beautifully across the burgundy carpet. A massive, heavy diamond necklace sparkled at her throat. She looked like absolute perfection.
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A medium close-up captured Victoria stepping gracefully into the corridor. She saw the struggling analyst, and for a microscopic, terrifying second, her sweet, bridal smile completely dropped. Her eyes locked onto the manila folder in Clara's hand, flashing with pure, toxic panic.
👉 Victoria forced her fake smile back onto her face, entirely prepared to let an innocent woman be slaughtered to protect her secret.
