Chapter 7: Confronting the Architect
Vincent stood up immediately from his armchair, his expression softening just a fraction as he looked at his daughter. He crossed the room in long, measured strides, meeting her halfway. “Clara. You should be resting upstairs. The medic said—”
“I’m fine, Dad,” Clara interrupted gently, placing a hand on his forearm to steady herself. Her voice was firm, carrying an authority that brooked no argument. She looked past her father, her gaze locking onto Leo, who shrank back as if he had been burned by her look.
Leo opened his mouth, desperate to defend himself, but the cold, dead look in Clara’s eyes silenced him instantly. “Clara... please. I was trapped. I never wanted them to hurt you,” he choked out, his voice pathetic and small.
Clara walked past her father, stopping a few feet away from Leo’s chair. She looked down at him, taking in the plaid pajama pants, the scuffed slippers, the pathetic posture of a man who had sold out his family for a quick fix to his gambling debts. The man she had thought she loved was nothing more than a coward.
“You didn't want them to hurt me?” Clara repeated, her voice remarkably even, devoid of the screaming or exaggerated crying that weak people relied on. “You let them into my home while I was sleeping. You knew what Marcus was capable of. You traded my safety and our child’s safety to clear your gambling debts with the Veles crew.”
Leo shook his head frantically. “It wasn't like that! I was going to fix it—”
“Shut up, Leo,” Clara said softly. The quiet finality in her tone was more devastating than any shout could have been. She turned her gaze from Leo to Marcus, who was still kneeling on the floor, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.
“And you,” Clara said, addressing Marcus directly. “You always thought my father’s empire was something you could steal piece by piece. You think because I’m a woman, because I’m pregnant, I’m a liability.”
Marcus laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You’re a Morano, sweetheart. You’re all cut from the same cloth. Your old man built this family on blood and debt.”
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Before Marcus could finish his sentence, Vincent was there. He didn't strike the man—physical violence was beneath him, reserved for animals. Instead, Vincent stepped between Clara and Marcus, looking down with absolute disdain.
“My family is built on loyalty, Marcus,” Vincent said quietly. “And yours is about to be dismantled piece by piece.” He turned back to Clara, his voice softening as he offered her his arm. “Let’s go back upstairs, sweetheart. The authorities are arriving in ten minutes. This part of the night is finished.”
