Chapter 2
The heavy glass door muffled Lily’s frantic, desperate sobs, but the sight of her small, bare hands pressing flat against the freezing pane struck Richard with the force of a physical blow. Her rosy cheeks were slick with tears, her breath leaving frantic little clouds of condensation on the glass. Neither Mark nor Claudia noticed the towering figure of the Mafia boss standing in the shadows of the corridor; they had already turned their backs, walking toward the warmth of the roaring fireplace to fetch another glass of champagne.
Richard’s expression changed completely. The stoic, unreadable mask of the syndicate leader vanished, replaced by the fierce, primal fury of a patriarch witnessing the abuse of his own blood.
He moved silently, his polished leather shoes making no sound against the marble. Instead of entering the main lounge, he bypassed the heavy velvet curtains and quietly unlocked the secondary service door that led directly onto the terrace.
The Colorado wind hit him instantly, but Richard did not flinch. He stepped out into the biting cold, his sharp gaze immediately dropping to the snowbank where Claudia had discarded the crumpled piece of paper. He bent down, retrieving the drawing with his large, artistically tattooed hand, before taking three massive strides toward the glass door.
"Lily," Richard said, his deep, raspy voice cutting through the howl of the wind.
The little girl spun around, her eyes wide with shock and relief. She scrambled across the icy stone, her tiny, frozen feet slipping as she threw herself at his legs.
"Grandpa…" Lily sobbed, burying her cold face into the expensive fabric of his trousers. "I made it for you. I just wanted to give you your present."
"I know, little one. I know," Richard murmured, his voice slow and heavy with an emotion he rarely allowed the world to see.
He immediately stripped off his heavy, tailored overcoat. Kneeling in the snow, he wrapped the massive expanse of wool completely around Lily’s shivering body, bundling her up until only her rosy, tear-stained face was visible. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, and kicked the heavy glass door open with the heel of his shoe.
The sudden rush of freezing air into the heated birthday lounge drew the attention of the room. The bright, cinematic lighting caught the imposing figure of Richard Bellacorte stepping into the warmth, holding a filthy, crying child wrapped in his coat.
Mark, holding a fresh crystal glass of bourbon, finally noticed his father. The blood drained from his fair, handsome face in an instant. He rushed forward, his eyes darting nervously between Richard and the guests who were now turning to watch.
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"Dad, what are you doing?" Mark stammered, quickly reaching his hand out as if to take Lily or snatch the drawing Richard held. "You shouldn't have brought her in here. It was only a small punishment. She was acting like a wild animal."
Richard did not move. He stood perfectly still, clutching the little girl to his chest. He slowly looked at his son, his cold, intimidating eyes narrowing into slits of pure, unadulterated menace.
