Fernando’s POV The sting of her slap still lingered on my cheek. Ashley’s handprint, small but vicious, pulsed hot against my skin. It wasn’t the pain that ignited the storm in me—it was the audacity. Me, Fernando Ramirez. Don of my family. Feared by men who wouldn’t dare look me in the eye, let alone raise their hand. And yet… she had. The compound was silent for a beat, shocked faces frozen in disbelief. My men—sharp suits, steady hands, trained to kill—looked like statues, jaws slack. Even the uniformed police, who only minutes ago had been questioning, now stood with wide eyes, waiting to see how I would respond. Marlo broke the silence first. “How dare you!” he snarled, stepping forward like a bull, veins bulging in his neck. His fists clenched, his jaw grinding. “She slapped you, boss! Let me—” “Marlo.” My voice was quiet, but deadly enough to slice through his rage. I didn’t even look at him, because my eyes were locked on Ashley. “Stand down.” “But—” “Stand. Dow
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