"When the ruthless Mafia boss unboxed his birthday gifts, he never expected to find his own starving, barefoot grandson freezing in the snow—and the bloody revenge that followed." / Chapter 10 / 60

Chapter 10

The freezing air in the basement seemed to grow even heavier. Mark and Claudia backed away, their bare feet sliding on the icy concrete, trying to put distance between themselves and the terrifying patriarch of the family.

"Dad, be reasonable," Mark pleaded, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the agonizing cold of the stone against his skin. "I'm your son. I run half the syndicate. The men look up to me. You need me to manage the new territories."

Richard looked down at his son with an expression of pure, cold pity. "You manage nothing, Mark. You are a figurehead. The capos tolerate you because they fear me. And tonight, they saw exactly what kind of man you are. You struck a starving child and cowered when a real man stepped up. You have no respect left in my organization."

He turned his gaze to Claudia, who was weeping silently against the far wall. "And you. You wanted to play the grand lady of the manor. You wanted the jewels, the power, the name. You have dragged the Bellacorte name through the dirt to satisfy your petty, cruel vanity."

Richard took one final drag of his cigar, dropping it onto the concrete and crushing the glowing ember beneath the heel of his polished leather shoe.

"The boy survives because he has my blood," Richard said quietly. "You two survive only because I do not wish to stain my birthday with patricide. But your lives as you know them are over."

He turned to Sal, who stood at attention by the stairwell.

"Sal," Richard commanded. "Transfer all of Mark’s assets into a trust for Noah. Seize the bank accounts, the properties, the cars. Everything."

"No!" Claudia screamed, lunging forward, only to be stopped by the heavy boot of a bodyguard against her chest, shoving her back into the freezing wall.

"Take them to the airstrip," Richard continued, completely ignoring her screams. "Put them on the cargo plane to the Sicilian compound. They are not to have a single dime, a single luxury, or a single moment of authority. They will work in the olive fields with the laborers. If they try to leave, break their legs."

"Dad! You can't do this! I'm an American citizen!" Mark screamed hysterically, thrashing against the guards as they moved in to grab him. "You can't banish me!"

"I am Richard Bellacorte," the old man replied, his voice echoing in the dark. "I can do whatever I please."

Richard turned his back on them and began to walk up the concrete stairs. The desperate, shrieking pleas of his son and daughter-in-law faded as he reached the top. He stepped out into the hallway, slamming the heavy steel door shut and throwing the deadbolt. Silence fell over the lodge once more.

He walked up the grand staircase toward the master suite, where Noah was sleeping warmly in a massive bed. He paused at the door, pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed a number he hadn't called in ten years.

"It's Richard," he said into the receiver, his eyes narrowing as he looked out the window at the raging blizzard. "I need you to come to Colorado. It's time to clean house. We have a new heir to protect."