Chapter 8
The grand hall emptied with ruthless efficiency. The high-society guests and cartel heads did not linger to say their goodbyes or retrieve their coats; they practically ran for the exits, eager to put distance between themselves and Richard’s wrath. Within minutes, the heavy oak doors were sealed shut, the deadbolts sliding into place with a heavy, final thud.
Two massive bodyguards hauled Mark up from the wreckage by his armpits. He kicked and screamed, begging his father for mercy, but his pleas echoed off the stone walls and fell on deaf ears. Another guard grabbed Claudia by her elegant winter dress, dragging her roughly toward the servant's stairwell that led to the unheated cellar.
Richard didn't watch them go. The moment they were out of sight, the terrifying tension drained from his broad shoulders. He turned away from the blood and shattered glass, walking slowly back to the velvet armchair by the roaring fire.
The lodge doctor, a discreet older man named Rossi, had arrived with his black medical bag. He was kneeling beside the chair, wrapping Noah’s tiny, frostbitten feet in thermal bandages.
"How is he, Rossi?" Richard asked, his voice softening entirely as he knelt beside the armchair.
"He's severely malnourished, Richard," the doctor replied in a hushed tone, his eyes reflecting his quiet horror. "He has bruises in various stages of healing on his ribs and back. Mild frostbite on his toes, but we caught it in time. Another ten minutes out there, and he would have lost them. Honestly... he’s been living like a stray dog."
Richard’s jaw tightened, a dangerous muscle ticking in his cheek. He reached out, his massive hand gently brushing the matted, dirty blonde hair from Noah’s forehead. The boy leaned into the touch, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but wide with awe.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," Noah whispered, clutching the wooden airplane tightly against his chest. "I didn't mean to make the lady mad. I just wanted to give you my present."
Richard felt a sharp, unfamiliar pain in his chest. He, a man who had ordered the destruction of empires, felt his heart break over a piece of scrap wood and a fraying ribbon.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, mio piccolo leone," Richard said softly, using the Italian term of endearment he hadn't used since Mark was a baby. "You are very brave. This airplane is the finest gift I have ever received. I will keep it on my desk, always."
Noah offered a weak, trembling smile, his eyelids finally drooping shut as the warmth of the fire and the heavy overcoat lulled him to sleep.
Richard stood up, his face hardening back into the impenetrable mask of the Don. "Take him upstairs to the master suite, Rossi. Put two men outside the door. If anyone but me tries to enter that room, shoot them."
"Yes, Boss," Rossi nodded, gently lifting the sleeping child.
Richard watched them ascend the grand staircase. Once they were gone, he turned to Sal, who was standing quietly by the ruined fireplace.
"Have the cellar doors been secured?" Richard asked, buttoning his suit jacket.
May you like
"Yes, Boss. Mark and Claudia are locked in," Sal confirmed. "What are your orders?"
Richard walked over to the shattered wine trolley. He picked up an unbroken bottle of bourbon from the debris and poured himself a glass. "Go down to the basement, Sal. Strip them of their heavy clothes. Leave them in their undergarments. We are going to have a long conversation about how they treat my blood."
