Chapter 8 - The Uncle’s UltimatumMy hand tightened around the brass doorknob of the library.
Nephew.
That meant only one thing. This was Giancarlo Moretti—Luca’s estranged uncle and former co-CEO of Moretti Global, a man who had been exiled to the firm’s European holdings five years ago after a bitter boardroom coup attempt.
"You're trespassing, Mr. Moretti," I said, stepping out of the library and walking down the grand staircase with deliberate, unhurried grace. I refused to look like a frightened victim in my own home. "And security is currently twenty seconds away from pinning you to this marble floor."
Giancarlo chuckled, a dry, papery sound that lacked any real warmth.
"Security?" He gestured vaguely toward the front doors with a gloved hand. "My dear girl, the guards outside are currently enjoying a very deep, medically induced sleep courtesy of my personal extraction team. Don't worry, they'll wake up with severe headaches and a generous severance package by morning."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained an icy mask. "What do you want, Giancarlo? If you're here to reclaim your seat on the board, you're barking up the wrong tree. Luca destroyed you once; he can do it twice."
Giancarlo’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl. He took two slow steps toward the base of the staircase, looking up at me with undisguised contempt.
"Luca thinks he runs this empire," Giancarlo hissed softly. "He thinks because he saved a little girl from a pathetic nobody named Morrison, he's invincible. But he forgot one fundamental rule of the Moretti family: we don't share power with outsiders. And we certainly don't let random waitresses dilute our bloodline with forged birth certificates."
"Chloe is legally registered, protected by federal decree, and recognized by the highest courts in this state," I snapped, descending the final two steps until I was standing just ten feet away from him. "You can threaten me all you want, but if you touch my daughter—or Luca—I will tear your remaining assets apart down to the last penny."
Giancarlo stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, a twisted look of grim amusement crossed his face.
"You really think you're a Moretti now, don't you?" he whispered. "You think playing dress-up in silk gowns and attending charity balls makes you part of the pack? Let me tell you a little secret about my nephew, Emma."
"I'm listening," I said evenly.
"Luca didn't save you out of the goodness of his heart," Giancarlo sneered. "The Moretti family charter states that any CEO who fails to produce a legitimate legal heir by his thirty-fifth birthday—which happens to be next month—forfeits fifty percent voting control of the conglomerate to the board of directors. My board."
The words hit me like a physical blow. The room seemed to tilt slightly.
"What... what are you talking about?" I whispered.
"He needed a child, Emma. Desperately. And you just happened to be standing in the right place at the right time with a crying baby and a desperate need for revenge," Giancarlo laughed softly, stepping closer. "You're not his partner. You're his legal loophole."
Before I could process the suffocating weight of his words, the private elevator bell chimed behind us.
The doors slid open.
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Luca stepped out into the foyer. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and in his right hand, he held a heavy, silenced Beretta pistol aimed with absolute, terrifying precision directly at Giancarlo’s chest.
"Uncle," Luca’s voice was a lethal whisper that cut through the silence like a razor blade. "Step away from my wife."
