Chapter 3 - The Queen's JudgmentI stood up slowly from the bedside, gently releasing Grace’s hand, and turned to face the doorway.
My mother, Elena Rossi, stood framed in the archway. She was dressed impeccably in her signature cream-colored silk suit, her silver hair styled into an immaculate chignon, not a single strand out of place. Her sharp, aristocratic features mirrored my own, but where I felt a burning, righteous fury, her pale blue eyes held only the cold, calculating detachment of a chess grandmaster surveying a sacrificed pawn.
"You should not have opened that door, Christian," Elena said smoothly, her voice calm and measured as she walked further into the room, glancing briefly at Grace writhing in pain on the bed. "It was meant to protect this family. That girl does not belong in our world. She is weak, an outsider from a family of academics. She was a temporary distraction."
"She is my wife," I said softly, stepping away from the bed and closing the distance between us. The space between my mother and me felt charged with static electricity. "And that child in her womb is your grandchild. You locked her in a cage. You starved her. You lied to my face every single day."
Elena didn't flinch. She simply raised an eyebrow, adjusting the diamond brooch pinned to her lapel. "I did what was necessary for the preservation of the Rossi dynasty. When you married her, you forgot your duty. A mafia king does not marry a delicate museum curator. He marries power. While you were wasting months in Europe playing diplomat, rival syndicates were circling us like vultures. I cleared your path, Christian. I gave you a clean slate."
"By murdering the mother of my child?" My voice was barely a whisper now, carrying the quiet, crushing weight of an avalanche.
"She wasn't supposed to die down there," Elena replied coldly, a flicker of irritation crossing her features for the first time. "I intended to keep her secure until you returned, broker a quiet disappearance, and arrange a suitable marriage with the daughter of the New York syndicate. But the stubborn little creature refused to eat, refused to cooperate, and brought this ruin upon herself."
Grace let out a piercing, agonized scream from the bed as another violent contraction wracked her body.
I didn't break eye contact with my mother. I reached inside my jacket, my fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy steel grip of my custom Sig Sauer P226. I drew the pistol smoothly from its holster, the metallic click of the slide locking back echoing loudly in the spacious bedroom.
Elena’s eyes dropped to the weapon for a fraction of a second. A flicker of genuine shock finally pierced her icy composure. "Christian... you wouldn't shoot your own mother."
"You stopped being my mother the moment you laid a hand on my wife," I said, raising the barrel until it leveled directly between her eyes. "Move one inch closer to that bed, and I will paint this floor with your blood."
Before Elena could recover her tongue, the sound of screeching tires broke the quiet of the estate courtyard below. Headlights swept wildly across the ceiling as Dr. Aris Thorne’s car slammed to a halt outside. Moments later, heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the bedroom door was kicked wide open.
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"Get out of my way!" Aris panted, bursting into the room with his heavy medical case swinging in his hand, his eyes widening in sheer horror as he took in the sight of me holding a gun on my own mother.
"Aris! Over here!" I shouted, keeping my gun trained on Elena without blinking. "She's crowning! Do your job!"
