Chapter 7
The weight of Winston’s declaration hung in the crisp, bright air of the mountain lodge. The cinematic colors of the room—the emerald green of Victoria’s dress, the crimson of Preston’s sweater—now felt like the vibrant markings of marked targets.
"Dad, you can't do this," Preston wheezed, struggling to stand up, using the broken frame of the wine trolley for support. "I am your underboss. I handle the money laundering for the entire western seaboard. The Commission won't accept you removing me over a domestic dispute!"
"A domestic dispute?" Winston repeated softly, his jaw locking tight. "You starved my grandson. You clothed him in rags while you wore cashmere. You let this woman throw him into a blizzard. That is not a dispute, Preston. That is a fundamental failure of your humanity."
"He's not even full blood!" Victoria shrieked from the floor, crawling out from beneath the wrapping paper, her panic driving her to pure, venomous desperation. "His mother was a nobody! He doesn't belong in a family like ours! I was trying to protect our image!"
The room went completely, dead silent. The bodyguards tightened their grips on their concealed weapons.
Winston did not scream, but the dark, murderous fire that ignited in his eyes made Victoria instantly snap her mouth shut.
"His mother," Winston said, his voice dropping into a freezing, terrifying register, "was a brilliant woman who died bringing him into this world. She had more honor in her little finger than you have in your entire miserable existence. Jamal carries my blood. He carries my legacy. And you, Victoria, carry nothing but expensive fabric."
Winston turned his attention away from the trembling woman and looked directly at his lead capo, a broad-shouldered man named Silas.
"Silas," Winston commanded.
"Yes, Boss," Silas responded immediately, stepping forward from the perimeter.
"Strip them," Winston ordered, his American accent sharp and unyielding.
Preston’s eyes widened in horror. "What? Dad, no, wait—"
"Take his watch. Take his phone, his wallet, his keys, and his ledger access codes," Winston instructed, his eyes never leaving his son. "Take the diamonds off her ears. Take the rings off her fingers. Strip them of every single item purchased with my money."
"You can't do this!" Victoria screamed hysterically as two massive bodyguards marched toward her. "Those are my things! You are robbing us!"
"I am reclaiming syndicate property," Winston corrected coldly.
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The bodyguards moved with brutal efficiency. One grabbed Preston, twisting his arms behind his back, violently unbuckling the luxury silver watch from his wrist and digging into his tailored chinos for his wallet and keys. Across the room, Victoria thrashed and sobbed as another guard effortlessly unclasped her diamond necklace and pulled the heavy rings from her manicured fingers.
Within ninety seconds, the two architects of Jamal's suffering were stripped of their wealth, their status, and their power, reduced to bleeding, trembling prisoners in the center of the grand hall.
