Chapter 8
The bright, vibrant lights of the chandeliers seemed to glare down on the ruined matriarch. Victoria lay sprawled amidst the garbage, her immaculate sapphire gown covered in half-eaten food and shattered glass, her perfectly styled hair ruined. She was gasping for breath, clutching her bruised shoulder, her eyes wide with shock and pain. For the first time in her life, the untouchable queen of the Sterling family looked exactly like what she was: a pathetic, broken old woman.
Alexander did not take a single step backward. He stood tall and imposing, his tailored overcoat draped around him like a king's mantle. He shifted his weight, keeping Sophia safely cradled in his left arm. He pressed a large, warm hand against the back of his daughter's head, gently holding her face against his shoulder so she wouldn't have to look at the violent wreckage he had just created.
He stared directly at Victoria. The heavy gold signet ring on his right hand caught the light as he curled his hand into a tight fist at his side.
The guests along the perimeter of the room held their breath. They knew Alexander. They knew the legendary, ruthless temper that had allowed him to conquer the city's underworld. They expected him to pull the weapon from his shoulder holster and end it right there in front of the banquet tables.
Instead, Alexander leaned forward slightly. The muscles in his jaw locked, and when he spoke, his voice was a terrifying, low growl that vibrated with suppressed, lethal violence. He spoke through clenched teeth, ensuring every single syllable carried the weight of a death sentence.
"Tell me where every dollar went," Alexander commanded.
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Victoria’s fair face, previously flushed with manic anger, instantly drained of all color. She looked up at her son, and for the first time, she realized he wasn't acting out of blind rage. He was conducting an interrogation. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, looking at the capos, the politicians, and the family guests she had bribed and entertained for the last six months. Not a single person stepped forward to help her. They were all staring at her with the same cold, detached anticipation of a firing squad.
Victoria's face became twisted with sheer, unadulterated fright. Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came out. She was trapped.
