Chapter 7
Before Mark could answer, the heavy double doors of the lodge burst open again.
A gust of icy wind swept into the room as three men in dark tactical parkas entered, their boots caked with snow. At the front was Viktor, the head of Richard’s perimeter security team, carrying a heavy encrypted satellite transceiver.
"Don Richard," Viktor said, breathing heavily, his fair skin red from the storm. "We have an urgent situation at the lower gate."
Richard did not turn his head from Mark. "Speak, Viktor."
"A convoy of four armored SUVs just breached the exterior checkpoint on Route 82," Viktor reported, his voice tight with alarm. "They didn't use the private transponder codes. They used an override key issued under Mark’s personal administrative clearance."
The room went dead silent once more. Every capo in the hall stiffened, their hands drifting toward their concealed holsters.
Richard slowly turned his gaze back to Mark, who was still kneeling in the spilled wine.
"An override key, Mark?" Richard asked softly. "Who did you invite to my private mountain lodge on my sixty-first birthday?"
Mark looked like he was about to vomit. The blood drained from his fair face so fast he seemed translucent. "Dad... I didn't mean to... they said they just wanted to talk—"
"Who, Mark?!" Richard roared, the sudden explosive volume of his voice making the crystal chandeliers rattle overhead.
"The Vance syndicate," Claudia blurted out, trembling so violently she dropped to her knees beside her husband. "They promised us twenty million in liquid bonds! They said if Mark took the leadership chair tonight, they would back our claim before the Commission! We didn't know they would bring armed men, Richard! I swear to God, we didn't know!"
A collective gasp of outrage broke from the capos. The Vances were the Bellacortes' bitterest rivals—a brutal New York family with whom Richard had fought a bloody territorial war five years ago.
"You brought my enemies to my home," Richard whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, absolute fury. "You sold out your father’s life for twenty million dollars."
Mark lunged forward, grabbing the cuffs of Richard’s tailored trousers with bloody fingers. "They told me you were getting old, Dad! They said you were going to hand the syndicate to a trustee instead of me! I had to protect my future! Please, Dad, don't let them kill me!"
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Richard looked down at his son with eyes as cold as the blizzard outside.
"You didn't sell me out to protect your future, Mark," Richard said, kicking Mark’s hands off his shoes with effortless disdain. "You sold me out because you are weak. And the weak have no place at this table."
