Chapter 8
The swift, brutal confiscation of their assets left Preston and Victoria completely exposed. The bright video colors of the lodge highlighted their profound humiliation. The elite guests, who had been mingling with them just moments before, now averted their eyes, entirely unwilling to associate with walking corpses.
"You're making a mistake, Winston," Preston gasped, blood continuing to drip from his chin. "You need me. You're getting older. You can't run this empire alone. If you cast us out, the rival families will see it as a fracture. They will move on our territories by morning."
"Let them move," Winston said softly, adjusting the camel-hair coat around the sleeping Jamal. The little boy, exhausted by the trauma and lulled by the warmth of his grandfather's chest, had finally closed his eyes. "I will drown them in the same blood I am washing from my own house."
Winston slowly walked forward, closing the distance between himself and his son. He stopped just inches away, his towering, deeply masculine frame casting a long shadow over Preston.
"You thought my love for you would blind me to your cruelty," Winston murmured. "You thought because you managed the books, I would turn a blind eye to the bruises on this boy's arms. But you forgot one crucial detail, Preston."
Preston looked up, his fair, rosy skin pale and sweating. "What?"
"I am the architect of this family," Winston whispered, his dark eyes boring into Preston's soul. "I built it from nothing. And I can dismantle you just as easily."
Winston turned his head slightly, addressing the entire room.
"As of this moment," Winston declared, his powerful voice echoing off the vaulted timber ceilings. "Preston and Victoria are excommunicated. Their names are erased from the ledgers. Their bank accounts are frozen. Anyone in this room, or in this organization, who offers them shelter, money, or a single drop of water, will share their fate."
A collective, silent nod rippled through the capos and the guests. The decree was absolute.
Victoria collapsed onto her knees, sobbing into her hands. The reality of her situation had finally crushed her arrogant spirit. She was penniless, despised, and entirely unprotected in a world run by wolves.
"Please, Winston," Victoria begged, crawling slightly forward. "We have nowhere to go. There is a blizzard outside. The roads are closed. If you throw us out tonight, we will freeze to death."
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Winston looked down at her, the memory of Jamal standing barefoot in the snow burning hot in his mind.
"You threw a three-year-old child out into a sub-zero blizzard," Winston said, his voice entirely devoid of mercy. "You laughed while he shivered. Do you really think I care if you freeze?"
