Chapter 13 - Justice Served Cold
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Don Rossi stared into the dark, merciless eyes of Thomas Whitfield. He looked for a bluff, a sliver of hesitation, a sign that the young billionaire was too civilized to execute a massacre in front of three hundred witnesses.
He found nothing but absolute, freezing certainty.
Rossi slowly lowered his weapon, dropping it onto the marble floor. It clattered loudly, a stark admission of total defeat. The once-feared Chicago boss had been broken without Thomas ever raising his voice.
“Take my men,” Rossi muttered, his shoulders sagging, looking suddenly like a very old, very tired man. “The territory is yours, Whitfield. May you choke on it.”
“Escort him to the airfield,” Thomas ordered Silas without breaking eye contact with the defeated Don. “Ensure his plane leaves the tarmac. If he tries to contact any of his lieutenants, shoot him.”
Silas and a dozen guards moved forward, roughly grabbing Don Rossi and his disarmed men, hauling them out through a secured side exit. The threat of a mafia war was extinguished with terrifying, surgical precision.
The remaining guests stood in stunned, terrified silence. The politicians and socialites who had come for a wedding had just witnessed a brutal, bloodless coup that redrew the map of the American underworld.
Thomas turned around and walked slowly back up the grand staircase.
Emily was huddled on the top landing, weeping pathetically, her pristine white gown stained with spilled champagne and terror. She looked up at him, her beautiful face twisted into a mask of desperate, manipulative agony.
“Thomas, please,” Emily sobbed, reaching out to grasp his pant leg. “My father forced me! He made me do it! I didn't want to hurt Vincenzo! I love you, please, you have to believe me!”
Thomas looked down at her. He didn't feel rage. He didn't feel sorrow. He felt absolute, profound emptiness toward the woman who had shared his bed and murdered his father.
“You threatened a four-year-old child in my house, Emily,” Thomas whispered, his voice so quiet only she could hear it. “That was your choice. Not your father’s.”
He gently, but firmly, peeled her hands off his leg.
“You are not going back to Chicago,” Thomas stated coldly. “You are going to the basement holding cells. You will be handed over to the federal authorities tomorrow morning along with the evidence of your father’s murder. You will spend the rest of your life in a concrete box, entirely forgotten by the world.”
“No! No, you can't do this to me!” Emily shrieked as two guards stepped forward, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her away. She thrashed and screamed, her cries echoing through the vaulted ceilings as she was hauled into the shadows of the estate, her reign of terror permanently ended.
Thomas stood alone on the staircase. He looked out over the silent, terrified crowd of elite guests.
May you like
“The wedding is canceled,” Thomas announced smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. “Please enjoy the catering before you leave. My guards will show you to the exits.”
He turned his back on the crowd and walked down the hallway, leaving the chaos behind. He had secured his empire. But there was only one thing he actually cared about right now.
