Chapter 2 - A Vicious Pour Of Champagne On Dark Fabric
The tension in the immediate vicinity of the VIP table dropped the temperature of the room by several degrees. The string quartet continued to play, completely oblivious to the confrontation, but the wealthy guests nearby had fallen completely silent. They watched with bated breath, their champagne flutes frozen halfway to their lips. Vivienne Cross stood her ground, her designer heels planted firmly on the polished marble floor. She was a woman who had never been told 'no' in her forty years of life. Wealth had insulated her from consequence, and arrogance had blinded her to reality. She looked at the rugged, heavily muscled man in the simple dark suit, seeing only a peasant who had dared to disrespect her.
"I will not be dismissed by a man wearing off-the-rack wool," Vivienne sneered, her voice carrying sharply over the ambient noise of the gala.
Sylvester Stallone did not blink. His fair, rosy skin showed no sign of agitation. He possessed the terrifying patience of a man who had seen, and caused, the end of empires. He had been a ghost for years, a legendary Mafia Boss who had stepped away into the shadows. Tonight was supposed to be a quiet observation, a simple walkthrough of a property he had a vested interest in. He had not anticipated the blinding vanity of the city’s socialites.
"I said, move," Sylvester repeated, his deep American accent low and perfectly even. He didn't raise his hands, nor did he lean aggressively. His stillness was far more intimidating than any overt threat.
"You arrogant piece of trash," Vivienne whispered, her vicious nature bubbling over. "I am going to make sure you are dragged out of here in handcuffs."
"You are making a scene," Sylvester stated calmly, stating a simple fact rather than offering an insult.
"I am the scene!" Vivienne retorted sharply.
Without breaking eye contact, Vivienne slowly lifted the crystal glass of vintage champagne she held in her right hand. The golden liquid sparkled under the massive chandelier above them. Her friends gasped softly, anticipating her next move, but none stepped forward to stop her. With a deliberate, mocking twist of her wrist, Vivienne tilted the glass forward.
The cold champagne cascaded out of the crystal flute, splashing directly onto the lapel of Sylvester’s dark suit. The liquid soaked quickly into the fine fabric, darkening the material and dripping slowly down to the pristine marble floor below.
A collective gasp echoed from the surrounding guests. Even in their elite, insulated circles, such a blatant act of disrespect was shocking.
Vivienne stood back, a wicked, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She looked at the wet stain on his chest, extremely satisfied with her own cruelty.
"Know your place and wait outside!" Vivienne commanded loudly, ensuring that every person within a fifty-foot radius heard her declaration of dominance.
Sylvester looked down at his ruined jacket. The champagne dripped from the fabric, pooling quietly at his leather shoes. For a long, agonizing moment, he did absolutely nothing. He didn't shout. He didn't raise a hand in anger. He didn't even sigh. He just stared at the wet fabric with a detached, clinical observation.
"Look at him," a wealthy man in a velvet tuxedo whispered to his wife a few feet away, letting out a soft, nervous laugh. "He's completely paralyzed."
"Vivienne always was ruthless," another woman chuckled quietly. "The poor man doesn't even know how to react."
Vivienne crossed her arms, her diamond bracelets clinking softly together. "Are you deaf as well as stupid? I told you to get out. Security will be here any second, and I would hate to see blood on the marble when they throw you to the curb."
Sylvester finally lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Vivienne’s. There was no rage in his gaze, no wounded pride. Instead, there was a frightening, bottomless void. It was the look of a man who evaluated human life in dollars and bullets, a man who had commanded armies of ruthless men in the darkest corners of the American underworld.
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"You ruined a very good suit," Sylvester said softly, his voice cutting through the soft laughter of the crowd like a razor blade through silk.
"Consider it an improvement," Vivienne mocked, stepping back and gesturing dramatically toward the exit. "Now, take your pathetic self and leave my sight."
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