Chapter 7
Vittorio looked down at his mother, then slowly shifted his gaze to his younger brother. The air in the hallway felt thick, suffocating under the weight of his absolute authority.
"You packed the wrong child," Vittorio said.
His voice was quiet, lethal, and completely devoid of mercy. The words hung in the bright, colorful corridor like an executioner’s blade.
Rocco’s smile was entirely gone. The color drained from his face, leaving his fair skin ashen. He looked at the heavy leather suitcases at his feet, then back at his brother, his mind struggling to comprehend the sheer speed of his own downfall. He had thought he was a kingmaker; he was just learning he was entirely disposable.
"Vittorio, you can't do this," Donatella hissed, though the venom in her voice was now laced with genuine, creeping terror. "You throw us out of this house, you throw away the family. The captains won't stand for it. They will bleed your empire dry!"
"Let them try," Vittorio replied softly. "I built the ports. I negotiated the treaties. You just spent the money. If the captains want to follow a woman who beats children and a man who hides behind his mother's skirt, they can die with you."
He turned his head slightly toward the two towering bodyguards.
"Escort them to the gates," Vittorio commanded. "They are not to take a single vehicle from the garage. They walk down the driveway. If they attempt to re-enter the estate, shoot them in the legs."
"Vic, wait! Come on, man!" Rocco pleaded, his hands coming up in a desperate, placating gesture. The tailored suit suddenly looked far too large on his shrinking frame. "It was just a misunderstanding! We were just moving some boxes! You don't have to do this! We're blood!"
"You forgot what blood means, Rocco," Vittorio said, his slate-gray eyes devoid of any fraternal warmth. "You have thirty seconds to get out of my sight before I forget my promise to our father and bury you under the south lawn."
The bodyguards stepped forward in unison, their massive frames physically crowding Donatella and Rocco toward the staircase.
Donatella tried to maintain her aristocratic dignity, but her swollen, bruised cheek and ruined pearls made her look pathetic. She glared at Vittorio one last time, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred, before turning on her heel and marching toward the stairs. Rocco scrambled after her, grabbing his heavy suitcase, dragging it awkwardly across the polished floorboards, completely stripped of his pride.
Vittorio watched them descend the grand staircase, listening to the heavy thud of the front doors opening and slamming shut. The vibration echoed through the mansion, a final, definitive punctuation to their exile.
May you like
The hallway was suddenly very quiet. The bright sunlight seemed to warm the space once more, the toxic presence of the matriarch finally purged from the estate.
Vittorio turned his back on the stairs. He walked over to where Elodie was still sitting on the carpet. He knelt down, ignoring the crease in his expensive suit, and gently picked up the discarded stuffed rabbit. He dusted off the soft ears, his massive, calloused hands remarkably gentle, and offered it back to his daughter.
