CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN – CARLOS’ SERENADE

Chaos erupted in the dining room. Women shrieked as their expensive gowns were stained, men cursed as they were showered with broken glass and canapés. The mariachi band, unsure whether to continue playing or flee, added to the discord with a few hesitant, mismatched notes. In the midst of the pandemonium, Don Cesaro's voice cut through like a whip crack. "Silence!" The room fell quiet, save for the sound of dripping champagne and the muffled sobs of Carlos, who lay sprawled on the floor, his matador costume in disarray. Don Cesaro's gaze swept the room, his eyes blazing with fury. "Everyone out," he commanded. "Now." As the guests hurriedly filed out, murmuring in shock and indignation, Don Cesaro turned his attention to his youngest son. "Carlos," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "my study. Immediately." Jasmine, frozen in her seat, watched as Carlos was led away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. She could feel the weight of accusatory stares from the departing guests, thei