Claudia Bellacorte violently shoved barefoot three-year-old Noah through the open terrace doors straight into the freezing Colorado snow

Richard’s reaction was terrifyingly swift.

Before Claudia’s manicured nails could graze the pine wood, his fingers closed around the airplane, ripping it from her reach. In the same fluid, unbroken movement, he pivoted on his heel and delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap across Claudia’s face.

The blow cracked through the high hall with deafening finality.

Claudia spun through the air, her emerald earrings snapping, her designer heels flying from her feet as she crashed sideways into the long gift-wrapping table. The impact tipped the heavy banquet table onto its side. Rolls of metallic wrapping paper unraveled across the floor like glittering banners, velvet bows exploded into the air, and stacked porcelain boxes shattered into dust as Claudia collapsed beside the ruined furniture, clutching her swelling, purple cheek in stunned disbelief.

"My face!" Claudia wailed, blood trickling from her split lip onto her emerald gown. "Mark! Mark, he hit me!"

Mark could only groan beneath the collapsed wine rack, spitting blood and tooth fragments onto the rug.

Richard stood tall in the center of the hall, cradling little Noah against his heart, his breath slow, measured, and deadly. He looked down at his bleeding son, then at his groveling daughter-in-law.

"A small punishment?" Richard said, his voice quiet, lethal, and ringing with absolute authority. "I’ve got a small punishment for you too!"

Mark and Claudia looked up through their bruises, exchanging a glance of pure, unadulterated terror.

"Santino," Richard commanded softly, without shifting his eyes from the floor.

From the perimeter of the room, a broad-shouldered man of fifty with silver-streaked hair and a scarred temple stepped forward. "Yes, Don Richard."

"Take Noah upstairs to my private master suite," Richard instructed, his voice steady as iron. "Have Dr. Mercer examine his feet immediately for frostbite. Have Mrs. Gable draw a warm bath, find fresh clothes, and prepare hot broth. If my grandson sheds another tear, I will hold you personally accountable."

"On my life, Boss," Santino replied with deep reverence.

He reached out with massive, scarred hands, taking Noah gently from Richard’s arms. Noah clung tightly to his little wooden airplane, whispering through his sniffles, "Grandpa... will you keep my plane? Auntie said it was trash."

Richard reached out, his rough, tattooed thumb wiping away a streak of dried mud from Noah’s rosy cheek. "Your airplane is the guest of honor tonight, Noah. It sits at the head of the table. Go with Santino."

"Okay, Grandpa," Noah nodded bravely, his small hand relaxing into Santino's grip as the enforcer carried him up the sweeping staircase.