Chapter 3 - The Price of Loyalty
Lawrence Vance didn't flinch. He didn't drop his glass. Instead, he set the crystal tumbler down on the table with a soft, deliberate clink that sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil.
"A clever fabrication," Lawrence said smoothly, adjusting his silk tie. "Marco, your IT team must be working with cheap algorithms if they think a system override can be traced without a physical hardware token. And my token has been locked in my office safe all evening."
"Hardware tokens can be duplicated if you have root access to the master server," Rocco said, his voice dropping an octave. He walked toward the lawyer, each step deliberate and heavy. "You’ve handled my accounts for twenty years, Lawrence. You know where every body is buried. You know every shell company, every offshore account, and every dirty secret of the Moretti empire."
"Which is precisely why I wouldn't jeopardize my position by playing nursemaid to an illegitimate bastard left in a trash can," Lawrence replied, maintaining a veneer of icy professional detachment.
"Who said it was illegitimate?" Rocco’s voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the guards seemed to stop breathing.
Lawrence’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—just long enough for a seasoned predator to spot the trap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Rocco said, closing the distance until he was towering over the seated lawyer. "The registry code belongs to the primary bloodline. It requires a biological sample from both parents to generate the internal hospital seal at birth. I haven't touched another woman in five years. Which means this child belongs to me—and someone living under my roof."
Valentina stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Rocco! Are you out of your mind? You are interrogating your own lawyer and accusing your wife based on the delusions of a stray brat and a piece of plastic! If you have an heir outside our marriage, fine! Go find his mother! But do not bring this filth into my home and pretend it has anything to do with me!"
"Sit down, Valentina," Rocco commanded without turning around.
"I will not!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "You have turned this house into a prison of paranoia! Every time a shadow moves, you reach for a gun! I have given you my youth, my family's social standing, my entire life, and you treat me like a suspect in my own dining room!"
"Your uncle runs St. Helena Hospital," Rocco said quietly, his back still to her. "Your family name is stamped on the maternity wing. And Lawrence is your personal cousin through marriage. Shall I keep connecting the dots for you, my love, or would you like to explain why my son was dumped in a trash heap instead of being raised as an heir?"
Valentina froze. The fire in her eyes extinguished instantly, replaced by a cold, hollow dread.
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Before she could speak, little Sophia shifted in her corner. The baby stirred, letting out a soft, high-pitched mewl. Sophia looked down at the tiny face, then up at Rocco, her dark eyes wide with a startling maturity.
"He's not just your son, Mr. Moretti," Sophia said softly, her voice carrying across the silent room. "Look at his left ear. He has the same small mark as you."
