Chapter 9
The finality of Winston’s words hung in the air like a guillotine blade that had just severed the rope. The cinematic, bright lighting of the lodge felt stark and condemning. Preston and Victoria were no longer family; they were simply trash waiting to be taken out.
"Silas," Winston said quietly.
"Boss," Silas responded, standing ready.
"Take them to the service exit," Winston ordered, turning his back on his son. "Open the doors. Throw them out. If they attempt to crawl back inside, shoot them."
"Dad! No!" Preston screamed, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated terror as the bodyguards grabbed him by the arms. "You can't do this! We won't make it to the main road! We'll die out there!"
"Then you had better start walking," Winston replied coldly, walking slowly toward the massive stone fireplace.
The bodyguards dragged the thrashing, hysterical couple across the polished timber floor. Victoria’s screams echoed wildly, begging and pleading for a mercy she had never shown. Preston shouted promises of reform, swearing he would change, but his words fell on deaf ears. The heavy wooden service doors at the back of the lodge were hauled open. The roaring, freezing wind of the Colorado blizzard whipped into the corridor.
With a brutal shove, the guards threw Preston and Victoria out into the deep, unforgiving snow. The heavy steel doors slammed shut, the deadbolts sliding into place with a loud, definitive clack, cutting off their screams entirely.
The lodge returned to a state of heavy, awestruck silence.
Winston stood before the roaring fireplace. The warmth of the flames danced across his angular face. He looked down at Jamal. The little boy was fast asleep, his small hands still clutching the wooden airplane tightly against his chest. Winston gently brushed a hand over the boy’s dark hair, a profound, protective love softening the hard edges of the veteran Mafia boss.
"Silas," Winston called out softly, not wanting to wake the child.
"Yes, Boss," the capo answered, stepping up to the hearth.
"Send a team to the east wing. Burn everything that belonged to them," Winston instructed. "Then, I want you to go into town tomorrow morning. Buy the boy proper clothes. Buy him toys. Clear out the master suite and prepare it for him. He sleeps near me from now on."
"It will be done, Winston," Silas nodded respectfully. "And the guests?"
"The party is over," Winston said, turning to look at the silent crowd. "Tell them to return to their quarters. The celebration will resume tomorrow, under new management."
May you like
The guests filtered out of the room quickly and quietly, eager to escape the suffocating presence of the Don. Soon, Winston was entirely alone in the massive entrance hall, save for his sleeping grandson and the crackling fire. He had secured his bloodline. He had purged the rot from his family.
But as Winston sat down in a heavy leather armchair, pulling the camel-hair coat tighter around the boy, his sharp ears caught a sound that did not belong.
