Chapter 4 - The hidden ledger
Victor sat behind his massive mahogany desk, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing the faint, jagged scars of a violently earned past. The study was a fortress of silence, insulated by thick walls and heavy velvet drapes that blocked out the oppressive afternoon sun. Before him lay a single manila folder, its edges worn and yellowed with age.
He didn't need to open it to know what was inside. He had memorized every word, every forged signature, every fabricated date.
The screen on his laptop illuminated, displaying a transcript of Celeste’s phone call from the balcony. He read her desperate commands with a cold, hollow detachment. She was looking for the notary. She was looking for the money trail. She was looking for proof that Victor had bought his daughter and discarded the mother.
"Let her find it," Victor said out loud to the empty room.
It was a risky move, but Victor was a grandmaster at a board no one else even knew they were playing on. He leaned back in his leather chair, closing his eyes as a wave of exhausting memories crashed over him.
Eight years ago. The rain had been coming down in sheets, washing the blood from the asphalt of a deserted harbor dock. Evelyn had been trembling, her fair skin pale as moonlight, clutching a tiny bundle wrapped in a thick wool blanket. She hadn't wanted to sign the papers. She had wept until she had no tears left.
But the syndicate had put a bounty on her head. An old rival family, seeking to punish Victor for a territorial dispute, had decided that the mother of his newborn child was the perfect target. Victor had the money, the power, and the guns, but even he knew that he couldn't protect Evelyn from a ghost war while trying to dismantle the rival family from the inside.
So, he made a choice. The hardest choice of his life. He created a flawless narrative. He forged documents proving Evelyn had accepted ten million dollars to surrender custody and vanish. He leaked the papers to the right people, ensuring the syndicate believed the cold-blooded narrative: Victor Moretti had paid off a mistress to keep his child, and the woman had fled to Europe, out of the game entirely. The rival family lost interest in a mother who had abandoned her child.
But Evelyn hadn't fled to Europe.
A quiet knock at the door broke his reverie. Victor opened his eyes, sliding the manila folder into a heavy steel drawer and locking it.
"Come in," he commanded.
Ellie pushed the heavy door open, peeking around the edge. She looked smaller than usual, her lavender dress replaced by simple denim overalls, her rosy face pale and anxious.
"Papa?" she asked softly.
"Come here, principessa," Victor said, his entire demeanor softening instantly. He held out his arms, and Ellie ran across the thick carpet, climbing into his lap. He wrapped his strong arms around her, pressing a kiss to her hair.
He felt her trembling.
"What is it? Did you have a bad dream?" he asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble.
Ellie buried her face in his chest. She thought about the men in the library. She thought about the word "erased." But when she looked up into her father’s rugged, protective face, the fear melted just a little bit. He was the strongest man in the world. He wouldn't let her disappear.
"I just wanted to see you," she lied softly.
May you like
Victor looked at her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He knew she was holding something back, but he wouldn't push her. The world was already too heavy for an eight-year-old girl.
"I'm right here," Victor promised, resting his chin on the top of her head. "And I'm never letting you go."
