Chapter 5
The vibrant, bright colors of the ballroom seemed to mock the absolute despair crashing down upon the Coletti family. Faye Mercer, still standing near the head of the table, suddenly realized how incredibly exposed she was. Without Bastian’s protection, she was nothing more than an interloper in a room full of apex predators. She began to back away slowly, her elegant heels trembling on the marble.
"Marco," Alaric said, not taking his eyes off Bastian.
A towering man in a sharp suit stepped out from the shadows of the doorway. "Yes, Boss."
"Escort Mr. Coletti, his mother, and his companion off my property," Alaric commanded, his American accent flat and absolute. "Do not allow them to pack. Do not allow them to take a single vehicle from my garage. They will walk down the driveway, and they will exit through the main gates on foot."
"Alaric, please, be reasonable!" Bianca cried out, the reality of her sudden poverty and exile destroying her arrogant facade. "We are family! The press, the other families—they will ask questions!"
"Let them ask," Alaric replied coldly. "I will simply tell them that a rabid dog was put down. Get them out of my sight. If they resist, break their legs and drag them."
Bastian scrambled to his feet, holding his bruised jaw. "You can't do this, Alaric! My men won't stand for this! Half your soldiers answer to me!"
"Look around you, Bastian," Alaric said softly.
Bastian looked around the brightly lit room. The white American adults, the capos, the soldiers he thought were his friends, his loyalists—they all stared at him with cold, dead eyes. Some even smirked. Not a single man reached for a weapon. Not a single man stepped forward to defend him.
"They answer to the man who pays them," Alaric stated. "And your accounts were frozen ten minutes ago. Goodbye, Bastian."
Marco and four other heavily armed guards grabbed Bastian and Bianca by their arms, hauling them roughly toward the exit. Faye let out a sob, turning and running ahead of them to escape the humiliation. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, sealing their fate.
The silence returned to the ballroom, thick and heavy.
Alaric looked at the remaining guests. "The celebration is over. Clear the room."
Within two minutes, the grand hall was completely empty, save for Alaric, Serena, and the loyal lieutenant standing by the door.
Serena finally broke. The adrenaline left her body, and she leaned forward, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with violent, agonizing sobs. "He threw me away, Dad. He threw us away for a boy."
Alaric knelt beside her chair again. He gently took her trembling hands, pulling them away from her tear-stained, rosy face. "He did not throw you away, Serena. He threw his own life away. You are a Montesi. You carry the true blood of this family."
"But it's a girl," Serena wept, looking down at her swollen belly. "Everyone wanted a boy to take over."
"Let them want," Alaric said fiercely, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. "A queen can rule just as ruthlessly as a king. Your daughter will inherit everything I have built, and she will be taught how to crush anyone who says otherwise. But first, you must rest. The stress is not good for the baby."
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"What are you going to do to them, Dad?" Serena asked, her voice a fragile whisper.
Alaric stood up, adjusting his tailored suit, his eyes turning cold once more. "I am going to make sure that the child Faye is carrying inherits a world made entirely of ashes."
