Chapter 8 - The Paternity Trap Exposed
The ballroom erupted into complete pandemonium.
Reporters from the local business journals frantically snapped photos. Socialites covered their mouths in disbelief, while syndicate bosses murmured in disgust.
“You lying bitch!” Bianca shrieked, lunging at Vivien with her manicured nails bared. “How dare you! Dante, don't listen to her! She’s trying to steal everything from our son!”
Before Bianca could reach Vivien, two female Swiss security guards stepped in front of the pram, catching Bianca’s wrists with clinical precision and twisting her backward until she fell hard onto the floor.
Jean-Paul Laurent stepped forward, tapping the tablet in his hands to activate the ballroom’s large presentation screens, which had been set up for the maritime charity slides.
Across four fifty-foot digital screens, the certified genetic laboratory reports from the University of Chicago Medical Center appeared in crisp, unavoidable clarity:
Subject: Dante Moretti Jr.
Paternity Match to Dante Moretti Sr.: 0.00%
Biological Father: Marcus Vance, Miami, Florida.
Dante stared at the screens. The air left his lungs in a ragged, suffocating gasp. He looked down at Bianca, who was sobbing hysterically on the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
“You...” Dante whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, homicidal rage. “You brought another man’s child into my home? You let me announce him to the five families?”
“Marco promised me!” Bianca wailed, crawling backward across the parquet floor. “Marco said you would never find out! He said you were so desperate for a baby you would believe anything! Dante, please, I have nowhere to go!”
“Get her out of this city,” Dante snarled, his voice vibrating with absolute disgust. “If I ever see your face in Illinois again, Bianca, not even God will be able to protect you.”
Two banquet security guards hauled Bianca to her feet and dragged her out of the grand ballroom, her designer gown tearing against the chairs as she wept in total disgrace.
Dante stood alone in the center of the hall, stripped of his heir, stripped of his pride, and stripped of his fortune. The mighty Don of Chicago had been reduced to a laughingstock by his own arrogance and gullibility.
He slowly turned back to Vivien.
She stood surrounded by Don Salvatore and the city’s top business leaders, calmly discussing the transitional management of the shipping terminals. She didn't look angry. She didn't look triumphant. She looked entirely, effortlessly sovereign.
Dante took two trembling steps toward her, his knees buckling under the sheer weight of his regret.
“Vivien...” he croaked, tears finally spilling over his weathered cheeks. “Please. Forgive me. Let me be their father. I will give you everything. I will sign every asset over to you. Just let me hold my children.”
Vivien turned her head, looking at him with pity—the kind of pity one reserves for a stranger who had lost his way in a storm.
May you like
“A father protects his family, Dante,” she said quietly. “You traded yours for an illusion. You told me our marriage would end correctly and quietly. I have simply honored your request.”
She nodded to her security team. They turned the triple pram and escorted Vivien toward the grand staircase, leaving Dante Moretti standing broken in the wreckage of his shattered pride.
