Chapter 4 - The Truth on the MarbleI signaled for Madison and the guards to step into the adjoining library with Emily, closing the double glass doors behind them, leaving Vincent and me standing alone in the grand living room.
Vincent took three fast, trembling steps toward me, dropping flat onto his knees right on the plush carpet before my feet.
The broad, feared Don of Chicago knelt flat on the floor, his hands clutching together in a desperate, groveling plea.
"Claire... my God... forgive me..." Vincent sobbed, pressing his forehead against the carpet near my heels. "I was a monster... I was blind... my father told me I needed a male heir to secure the syndicate leadership against the rival families... Sophia lied to me... she told me you didn't care about the family business!"
I looked down at the man groveling at my feet with zero anger, zero hatred, and zero fear.
"I didn't care about your family business, Vincent," I spoke softly, my voice quiet, flat, and absolute. "I cared about my husband. I cared about the man who promised to hold my hand when our child was born."
Vincent raised his weeping face, looking up at me with bloodshot, desperate eyes.
"I will give you half the syndicate's private assets, Claire!" Vincent pleaded frantically, reaching his shaking hand toward my silk hem. "I will sign over fifty percent of Moretti Logistics directly to Emily! I will put her name on every foundation building in Illinois! Just let me be her father... let me hold my daughter!"
I took one deliberate step backward, pulling my dress away from his reach.
"You can't buy seven years of missed heartbeats with corporate stock, Vincent," I revealed, every word dropped into the quiet room like a final, unbroken truth. "When Emily had her first fever at two years old... I sat up all night holding her alone. When she learned to walk... you were buying Sophia emerald necklaces. When she asked why she didn't have a father... I told her her father was a brave man who died before she was born."
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Vincent let out a guttural, agonizing shriek of pure heartbreak, burying his face in his hands on the carpet floorboards.
"She doesn't need your blood money, Vincent," I added softly. "I inherited thirty million dollars from my grandfather's trust six years ago. Emily is already richer than your entire foundation."
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