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On our way, we stopped in Rome for a day. That evening, as we walked near the Trevi Fountain, we saw an unexpected sight.A man, filthy and dressed in rags, was on his knees, begging from tourists. A deep, jagged scar ran from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, giving him a terrifying appearance.I didn’t recognize him at first. But when he looked up, I saw his eyes, and I knew instantly.Dante.In just three months, he had been reduced to this. Not only was his face destroyed, but it looked like his leg had been broken again. He limped more severely than ever.He saw us, too, and his eyes filled with a familiar, burning hatred.“Vincent! Isabella!” He struggled to his feet and staggered toward us. “It was you! You did this to me!”Tourists scattered, frightened by his shouting. Vincent stepped in front of me, his eyes cold as he looked at the man who was once his “son.”“Dante, how did this happen to you?” I asked. I felt no pity, only a morbid curiosity.“It’s your fault!” he s
Vincent stormed in like an enraged lion and sent Dante flying with a single, brutal kick.“Aaargh!” Dante screamed as he crashed into a rose trellis, the thorns tearing at his clothes and skin.“Vincent…” I whispered, my strength failing.“I’m here. Don’t be afraid,” Vincent said, scooping me into his arms. “It’s over now.”Dante struggled to get up, but Vincent planted a foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.“You think I didn’t know what you were planning?” Vincent’s voice was arctic cold. “The moment you asked to see Isabella, I knew you were up to something.”“This was a setup?” Dante stared at us in disbelief.“That’s right,” I said, still weak but my mind clearing. “We wanted to see if you’d truly changed. Clearly, you haven’t.”Vincent pulled out his phone and played a recording. It was Dante’s voice, saying the exact monstrous things he’d just said to me.“You recorded me?”“Not just recorded.” Vincent gestured to several hidden cameras in the corners of the garden. “We
The words hit like a bomb.Francesca collapsed into her chair. Dante’s face went completely white.Vincent just stood there, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions: anger, betrayal, pain, and maybe even relief.“It’s not possible…” Francesca whispered. “There must be a mistake…”“Matriarch,” the doctor said respectfully, “we ran the test three times. The results are conclusive. Furthermore, we found something else.”“What?” Vincent asked.“Based on the genetic profile, the boy has strong genetic markers from Eastern Europe. Russia, to be precise.”Russian ancestry. A Bratva tattoo. It all made sense.The rest of the truth wasn’t hard to uncover. Dante’s real father was a Russian mobster. His mother, and Dante himself, had been part of a long-con, a trap designed to place a sleeper agent at the head of the Moretti family.Faced with the undeniable evidence, Dante crumpled to the floor, all the fight gone out of him, and grabbed at Vincent’s legs. “Father, please, for the sake of
The staff and guards around us lowered their heads, none daring to watch the confrontation.“I believe that’s a question for Vincent to answer,” I said, maintaining my smile. “He’ll be here shortly.”“Vincent?” Francesca scoffed. “My son, who you've clearly got your hooks into?”Just then, the roar of an engine grew louder. Vincent’s black Maserati screeched into the driveway. The door flew open, and Vincent strode out. He saw his mother and me face-to-face and immediately knew how bad it was.“Mother.” He came to my side, positioning himself slightly in front of me. “Welcome home.”“Vincent!” Francesca’s voice was sharp with emotion. “Look what you’ve done! You hurt your own son for her! How long will you let this woman fool you?”“Mother, it’s not what you think…”“Not what I think?” she cut him off. “Then tell me why Dante is broken and beaten! Why he’s been stripped of his birthright! The cause of all this is standing right next to you!”“Dante got what he deserved,” Vincent’s voic
Dante glared at me, the hatred in his eyes so intense it was almost tangible. After a long moment, a strange, twisted smile spread across his face.“Isabella, you think you’ve won?” His voice was low and venomous. “I’ve already written to my grandmother in Sicily. She’ll be here soon, and when she arrives, she’s going to throw a filthy woman like you out of the Moretti family. You just wait. Your little fairytale is about to end.”My stomach dropped. Don Moretti’s mother—the Matriarch, Francesca Moretti. She was a woman even Vincent respected, a legend in her own right. If she really came back…But I kept my composure. “We’ll see about that.”“See about it?” Dante’s smile grew wider, more sinister. “Grandmother despises schemers. When she finds out you’re the reason I lost my inheritance, she will make you pay. I promise you that.”“I’m the reason?” I scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”“At least I have true Moretti blood in my veins!” Dante suddenly thrashed, trying to get up. “Y
“Mother?” Dante looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. “What mother? She’s just some cheap whore who slept her way to the top! She’s—”CRACK!Vincent’s hand struck Dante’s face with a sound that echoed down the hall.“Enough!” Vincent thundered. “Isabella is my wife! She is your stepmother! How dare you speak to her that way?”Dante held his cheek, staring at Vincent in disbelief. “Wife? No! You’re joking!”“Joking?” Vincent pulled a document from his suit pocket. “This is our marriage certificate. Signed at City Hall three days ago.”The document glittered under the lights, the official seal and signatures clearly visible.Dante’s face turned as white as a sheet. “No… it’s impossible… How could you marry a woman like her?”THUD!Vincent’s foot connected with Dante’s chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. “A woman like her? She is the woman I chose! The lady of the Moretti family! And you,” he stood over Dante, looking down at him, “you are a traitor to this family.”Don Salva








