Chapter3

Two lines of men in black suits surged silently into the room and locked every exit behind them.

A young man strode unhurriedly across the carpet. He wore a bespoke black suit, a faint tattoo creeping up his collar. He was nineteen, his posture razor-straight, his features etched with an icy sharpness. He swept his gaze across the room, and let it linger for a fraction of a second on Arthur’s hand clasping Maya’s.

Dante cut through the heavy silence, stopped in front of me, and lowered his head.

"Mom." His voice was measured, and carried the weight of a long wait.

"It's been six months," I said. "You've grown taller."

He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to my temple.

Arthur stared at the scene, and looked as though he’d just been backhanded across the face. "What... what did you just call her?"

Dante ignored him completely.

Arthur whipped his head toward me. "Where the hell did this bastard come from?! Did you hire some gang to—"

"Arthur," I said calmly. "I just told you. This is your brother. My biological son."

"Bullshit!" He lunged forward, and stabbed a finger inches from my nose. "You'd rather hand the trust over to some random street rat than— Ahhh!"

Nobody saw the movement. In one fluid motion, Dante snatched a silver steak knife from the table and brought it down in a vicious backhand arc. The blade drove straight through the back of Arthur’s hand, and pinned his finger to the pristine tablecloth. Blood began to pool.

Arthur dropped to his knees, and his entire body convulsed in agony. Maya let out a piercing scream, collapsed to the floor, and scrambled backward in absolute terror.

Dante looked down at him. "Point your finger at my mother again, and next time, I’ll nail it through your throat."

A deathly silence suffocated the banquet hall.

Steady, unhurried footsteps echoed from the entrance. A dark cashmere coat was draped over my shoulders, and it brought the faint, rich scent of cigars. "Sorry I'm late," a deep, amused voice resonated off the walls. "The kid is impatient. Insisted on making the first move himself."

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to the doorway. Vincenzo strode in. He was in his mid-forties, impeccably built, and radiated an aura that forced people to avert their gaze wherever he looked.

That face. That name. A European tycoon who straddled both the legitimate business world and the underworld, his name alone was a master key.

Arthur stared up at him, and his pupils dilated in shock. "You... you're—"

"Dante's father," Vincenzo said, his tone impossibly flat. "Though you won't have the privilege of running into me in public anytime soon."

He shifted his gaze to Arthur. "Your mother told me that when you were little, you used to make her birthday presents with your own hands. You used to help her brew coffee. You were so charming back then. What a shame you grew up into this."

Arthur’s lips trembled, but no words came out.

Huddled in the corner, Maya’s tear-filled eyes narrowed for an imperceptible fraction of a second.

Dante wrenched the knife free and tossed it casually onto the table. Drops of blood spattered across Arthur’s cuff. Dante reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened a document.

"Paternity test. Notarized and filed in the State of New York. Do you need to see the original?"

Arthur slumped on the floor, and couldn't even piece together a coherent sentence.

I turned to face the entire hall.

"The farce ends here. I have three things to announce."

"First. As of tonight, all assets under the trust have absolutely nothing to do with Arthur."

"Second. As of today, I no longer have an adopted child. I have only one son in this life."

"Third. Everything in my name will be transferred entirely to my biological son."

Arthur’s head jerked up. "Mom?! You can't—"

"Before he died, your father left behind over a billion in debt and a mountain of corporate scandals. I was the one who liquidated my own assets and faced down the board of directors alone, just to keep this family afloat."

I cut him off, my voice chillingly calm. "Where did you think the money for Wharton came from? The sports cars? The penthouses?"

Arthur’s lips quivered, and the last trace of color drained from his face.

"When you were fifteen, you stole a bidding proposal to buy a Ferrari. I covered it up for you for seven years. At your graduation when you were twenty-two, you stood on stage and called me your only real family. I was in the audience, crying until my eyes swelled shut."

I looked at him, and felt as though I were staring at a faded, old photograph.

"I raised you for fourteen years, Arthur. You were eight when I took you out of that orphanage. You clutched the hem of my coat and asked if I would ever send you back. I told you I wouldn't. I kept my promise. And you?"

"Obligation, true love, the grudges of the older generation—that exact same rhetoric is what your father used back in the day. You two didn't even bother to change the phrasing."

Arthur lay crumpled on the ground, and remained entirely mute.

I picked up my wine glass, and a faint smile touched the corners of my mouth. "I'll leave the rest to you." I glanced at Dante.

Dante nodded. "Let him stop the bleeding first." He paused, and his cold eyes fixed on Arthur.

"After all, he needs to watch with his own eyes. He needs to see how everything he thought he could steal slips through his fingers—completely, cleanly, leaving absolutely nothing behind."