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Owen Pike’s hands shook so violently that the lukewarm coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug, staining the cheap laminate of his kitchen table. / Chapter 4 / 10

Chapter 4 - 99.9% PATERNITY AND THE BILLION-DOLLAR REJECTION

The legal documents arrived at the Westchester mansion via a specialized federal courier service three weeks later.

Roman sat at his desk, which had been cleared of everything related to Vanessa. Vanessa was gone, stripped of her assets and currently hiding in an apartment in Europe, terrified of the shadow Gabriel had left over her head. But her absence brought Roman no peace.

He tore open the envelope from the center for genetic analysis.

A single tear, hot and heavy, spilled over Roman’s cheek and smeared the ink on the word 99.998%.

"He's mine," Roman whispered, his voice cracking in the empty room. "He was always mine."

Gabriel walked into the room, holding a secondary legal brief. "Roman. Elena’s lawyers just filed a countersuit in federal court. They aren't just fighting for custody. They are seeking a permanent restraining order based on your... occupational hazards."

Roman stood up, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "She thinks she can keep a DeLuca away from his blood? I own the judges in this state, Gabriel! I own the streets!"

"You don't own Maryland, Roman," Gabriel said levelly. "And more importantly, look who just backed her legal defense fund."

Gabriel dropped a secondary document on the table. It bore the crest of the Marcone Family—Roman’s oldest and most lethal rivals in the shipping business.

Roman’s jaw tightened. "Dominic Marcone? Why the hell is he getting involved in my divorce?"

"He isn't involved in your divorce. He’s involved in your weakness," Gabriel explained. "Dominic found out that you threw away your family over a mistress. He knows you're distracted. By funding Elena’s legal defense, he places a shield over her. If you touch her, or try to take that baby by force, you start a multi-state war with the entire Commission. She’s using your own world against you."

Roman stared at the Marcone crest. He realized, with a sickening jolt, that Elena wasn't the helpless woman he had left in the rain. She had grown up the daughter of a traditional faction boss; she knew exactly how to play the game of survival.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

He didn't care about the war. He cared about the boy.

"Prepare the men," Roman ordered, his voice turning cold. "We’re going back to Harbor Ridge. I don't care if Marcone himself is standing on that porch. I am seeing my son."

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