Chapter 10
Winston stared at the buzzing, encrypted smartphone in his hand. Very few people possessed this direct number, and even fewer would dare to call it at three in the morning. With a slow, deliberate motion, he swiped the screen and brought the device to his ear.
"Speak," Winston commanded, his voice a low, intimidating rumble.
A heavy, static-laced chuckle echoed through the receiver, followed by a thick, unmistakable Russian accent.
"Winston Hayes," the voice purred, dripping with dangerous amusement. "I see the local police had a very busy night at your lovely winter estate. It is a tragedy about your son-in-law. Truly. Such a weak link in such a strong chain."
"Victor Romanov," Winston replied, his face a mask of terrifying calm. "I was wondering how long it would take the organ grinder to call after his monkeys were locked in a cage."
"Come now, Winston," Victor laughed softly. "Preston was a fool. He borrowed money he could not repay, and he lacked the stomach to do what was necessary to settle his debts. I hear the little boy survived the cold. You must be very relieved."
"If you ever mention my grandson's name again," Winston said, his voice dropping an octave, "I will personally pull your tongue through your throat."
The amusement vanished from the Russian's voice, replaced by cold, hard steel. "You are an old man, Winston. Your empire is vast, but your bloodline is incredibly thin. You have a toddler and a mountain of cash. You cannot protect both. Sign the shipping routes in the Narrows over to my syndicate by tomorrow night, and we will consider Preston's debt forgiven."
"And if I refuse?" Winston asked, though he already knew the answer.
"If you refuse, the blizzard that hit your house tonight will look like a gentle spring breeze compared to what I will bring to your front door," Victor threatened. "I have three hundred men ready to burn your legacy to ash. You are outmatched, old man."
"Victor," Winston said slowly, his deep mahogany skin reflecting the cinematic light of the hallway. "You made a critical miscalculation. You think because my hair is gray, my teeth are dull."
"We will see," Victor sneered. The line went dead.
Winston slowly lowered the phone, slipping it back into his tailored dark trousers. He stood perfectly still for a moment, the weight of the coming violence settling over him. He was seventy years old. He had hoped his days of bloodshed were behind him, buried with his youth. But family demanded a price, and Winston was more than willing to pay it.
Marcus stepped forward, having heard only Winston's side of the conversation. "Was it them?"
"Yes," Winston confirmed, his eyes flashing with a predatory, dangerous light. "Victor Romanov just declared war."
May you like
Winston turned and looked through the glass window of the recovery room. Trey was fast asleep again, clutching his toy fire truck, safe and warm. Winston placed a large, protective hand against the glass.
"Marcus," Winston said, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Open the armory. Call the families in Chicago and Detroit. Tell them the winter truce is officially broken. We are going hunting."
