Chapter 10 - The Judgment of Arthur DeMarco
Rocco threw Victoria at the feet of the Patriarch.
The old man stood over his wounded wife, the pearl-handled revolver still clutched in his weathered hand. The white phosphorus smoke was beginning to clear through the shattered emergency vents, revealing the carnage of the suite.
Victoria looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes filled with venomous defiance. "Go ahead, Arthur. Kill me. You’ll spend the rest of your pathetic years knowing the woman you slept beside hated every single breath you took."
The Patriarch lowered the revolver. His expression was neither angry nor grieved anymore. It was entirely dead.
"Death is an escape, Victoria," the Patriarch said quietly. "You will be remanded to an off-grid black site in the North Sea. You will have a warm room, a bed, and four walls. You will never see the sun. You will never hear another human voice. You will live until your body forgets how to breathe, entirely forgotten by the world you tried to rule."
He nodded to the two loyal inner-guard agents who had finally fought their way up from the private elevator. "Take her away."
Victoria screamed as she was hauled to her feet, spitting curses, thrashing against the guards until the elevator doors closed, silencing her fury forever.
Rocco turned away from the spectacle, his attention solely drawn to the glass partition.
The heavy door unsealed with a hydraulic hiss. Maya stepped out, her scrubs soaked in sweat and blood, her hands trembling from exhaustion. She pulled down her surgical mask and looked at Rocco, a faint, weary smile touching her lips.
"He’s healthy," Maya said. "Seven pounds, two ounces. Elena had a rough delivery, but she’s stable. She wants you, Rocco."
Rocco unbuckled his tactical harness, letting his weapons clatter onto a side table. He stripped off his blood-stained gloves, sanitized his hands at the door station, and walked into the quiet sanctuary of the medical room.
Elena was lying on the bed, pale, exhausted, with IV lines running into both arms. But wrapped in a sterile white blanket against her chest was a tiny, red-faced infant, sleeping peacefully against the steady beat of her heart.
When Elena looked up and saw Rocco, her eyes filled with tears—not of terror this time, but of overwhelming relief.
"Rocco," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Rocco approached the bedside and sank slowly onto one knee, bowing his head before the mother and child. For the first time in his life, the battle-hardened protector felt his throat tighten.
"He's safe, Elena," Rocco said softly. "It’s over."
Elena reached out with a trembling hand, her fingers tangling into Rocco’s dark hair, pulling him gently closer until his forehead rested against the edge of the bed.
"His name is Thomas," she whispered. "And you... you are his guardian. Forever."
The Patriarch stepped into the room, his cane tapping softly. He looked down at his daughter, then at the sleeping child who carried the blood of his dynasty. For a long moment, the old titan stood in silence, the weight of his seventy-year reign resting heavily on his shoulders.
He reached into his pocket and drew out the ancient signet ring—the seal that governed trillions in assets and commanded the loyalty of thousands.
He didn't place it on his own finger. He placed it gently beside the baby's blanket.
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"The second will is destroyed," the Patriarch said quietly. "The empire belongs to Elena. And to the boy."
***
