Chapter 2 - the traitor's silence
The silence inside the small servants' bedroom was so dense that the sound of the autumn rain outside felt like thunder.
Damiano stood motionless, his massive frame rigid, holding three-week-old Marisol against his heart with his left arm while his right hand held the silver pendant tightly between his fingers. His piercing blue-gray eyes locked onto Marco Bellini with a lethal, terrifying intensity.
"What did she mean, Marco?" Damiano asked. His voice was dangerously quiet, smooth as silk, yet carrying the weight of an executioner's blade. "What did you already know?"
Marco took a slow step into the room, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned, his hand resting near his sidearm. His disciplined face was as pale as ash, his earpiece humming with quiet radio static.
"Boss..." Marco began, his raspy voice tight with tension. "It’s not what you think. I was attempting to verify the lineage before bringing it to your attention."
"You knew there was a child in my house?" Damiano growled, taking a heavy step forward. "You knew my family's crest was engraved on a silver pendant three weeks ago, and you kept it from me?"
Elina stepped between the two men, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, protective fury. "He didn't just know about the baby, Mr. Rossi! He was the one who told my sister Sofia to hide in the city three months ago before she died!"
Damiano froze. The name Sofia struck his chest like a physical blow.
Sofia Carter had been Elina’s younger sister—a sweet, twenty-three-year-old assistant who had worked in the estate’s private administrative office until she tragically passed away in a sudden, mysterious hit-and-run accident three weeks ago.
Damiano looked down at the tiny infant sleeping in his arms, then at the engraved date on the silver pendant: JANUARY 14th.
January 14th was the exact night Damiano’s late younger brother, Julian Rossi, had been buried after dying in a tragic car crash.
"Marisol isn't my daughter," Damiano whispered, the realization hitting him like a wave of cold water. "She’s Julian’s daughter."
Elina let out a quiet sob, covering her mouth with her hand. "Yes... Julian was her father. Sofia was terrified because Julian told her before he died that someone on your executive council was trying to destroy his bloodline."
Damiano’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle flexed beneath his thick beard. Julian had been his only brother—a quiet, brilliant man who managed the family’s offshore logistics accounts. If Marisol was Julian’s daughter, she was the sole surviving biological heir to fifty percent of the Rossi family trust.
Damiano turned his lethal gaze back onto Marco. "Who paid you to keep Sofia quiet, Marco?"
"Nobody paid me, Damiano!" Marco shouted, dropping the formal title for the first time in ten years. "I found Sofia in the clinic two months ago! She was terrified because Victor Vane was tracking her private medical records! I told her to go into hiding because if Victor found out Julian had a legal heir, he would have killed her before the child was born!"
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Damiano stared at his head of security. Victor Vane was the fifty-eight-year-old senior chairman of the Rossi syndicate board—a wealthy, powerful man who had been attempting to force a takeover of the family’s European shipping lines ever since Julian’s death.
Damiano pulled his silver radio from his pocket. "All units, lock down the estate. Code Red. Nobody leaves the perimeter gates. Bring Victor Vane to my private study immediately."
