Chapter 7
"No! Please!" Claudia shrieked, dropping to her hands and knees and crawling toward Richard. "I'm not a part of the Chicago deal! I didn't know! You can't put me in the cellar! I'm a Bellacorte!"
"You are nothing," Richard said, not even looking down at her as two massive bodyguards grabbed her by the arms and hauled her roughly to her feet. "You lost the right to that name the moment you threw that drawing into the snow."
Mark tried to fight back, swinging a wild, desperate punch at the guard who grabbed him. The bodyguard effortlessly deflected the blow and drove a heavy knee into Mark's stomach, dropping him to the marble floor, gasping for air.
"Dad! Please!" Mark wheezed as he was dragged across the polished floor by his collar. "They’re coming tonight! The Chicago men! They’re coming to finalize the deal! If I'm not there to sign, they'll think it's a trap!"
Richard raised his hand, signaling the guards to stop. Mark looked up, a glimmer of pathetic hope in his eyes.
"They are coming here? To my estate?" Richard asked, his voice dead calm.
"Yes," Mark choked out. "At midnight. They expect a private meeting with me to hand over the port access codes. I promised them the eastern docks."
A collective murmur of outrage rippled through the assembled guests. The eastern docks were the lifeblood of the Bellacorte family's legitimate and illicit shipping empires. To sell them out was to sell out every man in the room.
Richard looked at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was 11:15 PM.
He looked down at his son, his expression devoid of any paternal warmth. "You sold the gates to our city to save your own skin."
"I can call them off!" Mark begged. "Just let me make the call, Dad! Let me fix this!"
"You have fixed enough, Mark," Richard said, stepping back. He looked at the guards. "Take them down. Chain them to the wall. And leave them in the dark."
As Mark and Claudia were dragged screaming from the luminous, bright lounge, Richard turned to face his capos. The men who ran his crews, his enforcers, his earners.
"Gentlemen," Richard addressed the room, his voice returning to its normal, commanding volume. "My son has invited wolves to our door. He believed he could sell our livelihood to cover his own pathetic failures."
The capos stood at attention, their faces grim, waiting for the command.
"Clear this room of all civilians. Send the wives and non-combatants to the secure wing," Richard ordered, pulling his suit jacket back on and adjusting his cuffs. "Arm yourselves. We have forty-five minutes to prepare a welcome for our guests from Chicago."
The room moved into immediate, synchronized action. The bright, airy aesthetic of the birthday party was instantly replaced by the cold, mechanical preparation for war. Weapons were drawn from hidden caches behind the bookshelves. Magazines were loaded with sharp, metallic clicks.
Richard walked toward the heavy glass doors leading to the snowy terrace. He looked out into the freezing night, the same cold his granddaughter had endured just an hour ago.
May you like
He touched the inside pocket of his jacket, feeling the crumpled paper of Lily's drawing resting close to his heart.
"No one takes what is mine," Richard whispered to his own reflection in the glass. "Not my granddaughter. And not my city."
