Chapter 7
The roaring fire in the massive stone hearth was the only sound in the entrance hall. The string quartet had fled to the kitchens. The wealthy guests were pressed tightly against the far walls, holding their breath, terrified that a single sudden movement might draw the wrath of the old lion.
Mark spat a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth onto the hardwood floor. He was trembling violently, finally managing to push himself up into a pathetic, kneeling position amidst the splintered wood of the wine trolley. Across the room, Claudia was openly sobbing in the wreckage of the wrapping table, her mascara running down her swollen, red cheek in dark, ugly rivers.
Richard slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket. He carefully placed the wooden airplane into his breast pocket, treating the crude, dirty toy as if it were carved from solid gold. He then turned his cold, lethal gaze toward his kneeling son and his weeping daughter-in-law.
"A small punishment," Richard whispered. The words were soft, yet they carried effortlessly across the vast room, dripping with an icy venom that made the hairs on the back of Mark’s neck stand up.
Mark looked up, his eyes wide with a sudden, horrifying realization. He opened his bloody mouth to speak, but only a wet, pathetic gasp came out. "Dad... please..."
Richard took one slow, deliberate step forward. The heavy thud of his shoe over the broken glass made Claudia flinch violently.
"You take my flesh and blood," Richard said, his voice steadily rising in volume, echoing off the high, wooden beams of the ceiling. "You strip him bare. You throw him into the ice like a stray dog. And you call it a small punishment."
"We... we just..." Claudia stammered from the floor, her voice trembling so hard she could barely form the syllables. "He was ruining the party..."
Richard’s head snapped toward her, his eyes burning with a terrifying, demonic intensity. "Shut your mouth," he commanded, his voice shaking the very floorboards. Claudia instantly clamped her hands over her mouth, choking on her own tears.
Richard looked back down at Mark. The disgust in the old man’s eyes was absolute. There was no paternal warmth left; there was only the cold, calculating judgment of a mafia boss looking at a traitor within his own ranks.
"You think you are men of power?" Richard asked the room, though his eyes never left Mark. "You think wearing expensive sweaters and throwing lavish parties makes you untouchable? You are nothing."
Richard slowly reached down and gently placed his large, warm hand on top of Noah’s messy, freezing hair. The boy was still trembling beneath the heavy wool coat, but he leaned into his grandfather’s touch, finding his only safety in the most dangerous man in the room.
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"A small punishment?" Richard repeated softly, his voice dropping back to that quiet, lethal register. He stared directly into Mark’s terrified eyes, delivering a promise that froze the blood in his son's veins. "I’ve got a small punishment for you too."
Mark and Claudia exchanged a panicked, terrified glance across the ruined room. The real nightmare had just begun.
