Chapter 6
The silence was profound, heavy, and lethal. The bright, cinematic natural light offered no warmth to the terrified onlookers. The elite white American guests, the seasoned capos, and the heavily armed bodyguards stood paralyzed, their faces pale with shock. They were witnessing a tectonic shift in the foundation of the syndicate.
Winston slowly adjusted the heavy camel-hair overcoat wrapped around Jamal, ensuring the little boy was completely shielded from the gruesome sights on the floor. Jamal had buried his face deeply into Winston’s shoulder, his shivering finally beginning to subside in the protective warmth of his grandfather's embrace.
Preston let out a pathetic, wet groan from the wreckage of the wine trolley. The thirty-eight-year-old man rolled onto his side, spitting a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth onto the polished timber floor. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his crimson sweater soaked in deep red, his fair skin ghostly white.
Across the room, Victoria scrambled desperately to push a collapsed stack of birthday gifts off her chest, her stiletto boots slipping on the unraveled wrapping paper. Her flawless makeup was ruined by tears of pain and profound humiliation.
Winston turns toward Preston and Victoria.
He looked down at them with cold, piercing eyes that were entirely devoid of human empathy. He had given his son the world. He had given him wealth, power, and a name that commanded fear. In return, his son had allowed an innocent child of their bloodline to be treated worse than an animal.
"You thought my age had made me blind," Winston said, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the silence like a serrated blade.
Preston coughed, looking up at his father with wide, terrified eyes. "Dad... please..."
"You thought because I let you manage the daily operations, that you held the power in this family," Winston continued, taking a slow, measured step forward. His polished leather boots crunched over a piece of broken crystal.
Winston looked from his bleeding son to his trembling daughter-in-law. The gold watch on his wrist caught the light as he raised his hand, pointing a single, steady finger at them.
“A small punishment?” Winston asked. His voice was quiet, lethal, vibrating with an absolute promise of imminent destruction. The controlled pause that followed made the threat infinitely more terrifying.
Winston stared them dead in the eyes.
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“I’ve got a small punishment for you too!”
Preston and Victoria exchange a terrified glance. The horrific realization of what those words meant settled over them like a heavy, suffocating shroud. This was not a physical beating to teach a lesson. This was an eviction from the empire.
