Chapter 6 - A Mother’s Fierce Defense
The following morning broke with dark clouds hanging low over Manhattan.
In the grand dining room, Emma sat perched in a high chair of polished mahogany, cheerfully smearing organic strawberry jam across a warm brioche. Alexander sat at the head of the table, cutting fresh fruit into small, safe pieces and feeding them to her with astonishing patience.
Sophia watched from across the table, sipping her coffee. The sight of the ruthless underworld tycoon acting as a doting father was nothing short of miraculous.
Suddenly, Marco entered the room, his expression taut. “Alexander. We have an emergency council meeting called at the Downtown Union Club in two hours. Lorenzo Moretti and three senior Rossi captains are demanding an audience.”
Alexander set down the fruit knife. “On what grounds?”
“Vanessa leaked the story to the inner council,” Marco explained. “She’s claiming you fabricated a child to secure permanent majority voting rights on the Rossi trust. They’re threatening to freeze your executive authority unless the child and mother are handed over to a neutral council panel for 'verification.'”
Sophia’s coffee cup rattled against her saucer. “Handed over? To who?”
Alexander stood up, his demeanor instantly transforming back into the apex predator of the New York underworld. “Nobody touches my family.”
“Alexander, you can’t fight the entire council and the Morettis at once,” Marco warned. “The rules of the founding families state that any heir must be formally presented and confirmed before the triumvirate, or the succession is contested.”
Sophia stood up, wiping Emma’s sticky fingers with a napkin. Her voice was steady, devoid of the hesitation she had shown the day before.
“Then we present her,” Sophia said.
Both men turned to look at her in surprise.
“Sophia,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “You don't understand these men. They are ruthless. They will try to intimidate you, question your character, and dig into your past.”
“Let them,” Sophia said, stepping beside Alexander. “For three years, I have scrubbed toilets, fought off predatory landlords, and stood in welfare lines while keeping my daughter healthy and safe. Do you think a bunch of old men in expensive suits scare me? If they want to challenge my daughter’s legitimacy, they will have to look her mother in the eye.”
Alexander stared at her. A slow, proud smile curved his lips, deepening the dimple on his cheek.
“Marco,” Alexander ordered, his voice echoing with renewed authority. “Call the tailor. Get Sophia a dress fit for the matriarch of this family. And assemble the tactical convoy. We’re going downtown.”
One hour later, Sophia walked down the grand staircase.
She wore an emerald-green velvet gown that hugged her voluptuous curves with royal elegance, tailored perfectly to highlight her waist and décolletage. Her auburn hair was styled into soft, cascading curls, and around her neck rested the historic Rossi heirloom necklace—a breathtaking cascade of emeralds and diamonds.
Alexander stood at the base of the stairs, utterly captivated. He offered her his arm.
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“You look magnificent,” he murmured.
Sophia looped her arm through his, holding Emma’s hand as the little girl skipped in a matching green dress. “Let’s go protect our daughter.”
