He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 03
I stayed in the room all afternoon.
That evening, the man who had been the De Luca family’s driver for twenty years came upstairs to tell me my grandfather wanted me back at the old house for dinner.
The weekly dinner wasn’t an ordinary family meal. It was where the head of the family assigned profits from the port district, heard reports from his capos, and announced marriages and inheritances. My father handled the accounts, but he had never allowed women to discuss those numbers at the table.
I knew I couldn’t refuse. After giving a few instructions to the caregiver, I took the car back to the old house in the North District.
Armed guards stood outside the iron gates. The magnolia tree in the courtyard had grown another ring thicker, and the black-and-silver crest of the De Luca family still hung in the foyer.
Dinner was already laid out on the long dining table.
My grandfather, Salvatore, sat at the head, his advisor standing behind him. My father, Vincent, and Ophelia sat on the left. Luca, as the Rossi family heir, sat on the right.
The seat that should have been mine was at the far end of the table.
When I walked in, every eye turned to me.
Luca’s gaze was the first to find me, taut as a line stretched to its breaking point.
I didn’t look at him.
“So you do remember the way back.” Salvatore struck the floor once with his ebony cane. “You only show your face when your mother is on her deathbed. I was beginning to think that respectable little job in Paris had made you forget your own name.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I pulled out the chair at the end of the table. “Which is precisely why I know the authorization for my mother’s care can only be signed by me.”
His face darkened.
Vincent stepped in to smooth things over. “It’s good that you’re back. You’re twenty-eight now. After six years away, it’s time to reestablish your place in the family. Your grandfather and I have already discussed it. Marco Bellini, the eldest son of the Bellini family—you met him when you were little. They control the warehouses to the west and are willing to make up for one of the transport lines we lost. After your mother’s surgery, both sides can announce the engagement.”
My hand tightened around my fork.
This dinner wasn’t about welcoming me home.
The head of the family was putting the daughter who’d slipped his leash back on the bargaining table.
“I’m not getting married.”
Salvatore’s gaze bored into me. “What did you say?”
“I will not marry into the Bellini family,” I repeated. “I can cover my mother’s expenses, and I will decide my own marriage.”
“You’ve been gone for six years. You know exactly how much standing this family has preserved for you.” His cane struck the floor again. “At your age, Ophelia has already stabilized the line of succession between the De Lucas and the Rossis.”
My eyes flicked to Luca instinctively.
His fingers curled once. He lowered his gaze to the wine in his glass and said nothing.
So that was his choice.
On one side was me. On the other, a boy recorded as his bloodline and the stability of two powerful families. He had chosen to let everyone believe the record was real.
“Just because her marriage achieved what you wanted doesn’t mean mine has to,” I said, setting down my fork. “I’m not her. I won’t walk the path you’ve laid out for me.”
The table fell silent.
Tears sprang to Ophelia’s eyes. She lowered her head and clenched her skirt, but the Rossi signet ring on her other hand was in plain sight.
“Elena,” she said softly, “I know it hurts you to see it. But back then, several Rossi elders witnessed the moment they gave me the wife’s signet ring. It wasn’t something I snatched from you.”
In front of the De Luca head, his advisor, and my father, she twisted the ring on her finger.
It wasn’t just jewelry.
She was reminding me: she had been acknowledged by both families, while I had personally surrendered my place six years ago.
“For me?” I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Did you marry Luca for me? Or did you give birth to the Rossi heir for me?”
Vincent’s expression hardened. He lifted a hand toward the guards by the door.
“Take her to her room. She is not to leave until dinner is over.”
“Vincent.”
Luca said only his name.
The guards froze. At the table, two Rossi men lifted their eyes. In this room, that was warning enough.
“Don’t touch her,” Luca said.
“You’re still protecting her?” Ophelia’s voice was barely a whisper, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I pushed back my chair.
“I’m getting some air.”
The night wind rustled through the magnolia tree, carrying the damp, salty air of the harbor.
I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Luca.
“Marco isn’t the worst option,” he said. “The Bellini family can fill the gap in De Luca’s western district operations. And you wouldn’t have to use your own money for your mother’s treatment.”
I turned to face him.
“In what capacity are you saying this to me? As the man who once proposed, or as my foster sister’s husband? As the Rossi heir, or as the De Luca family’s ally, sent to persuade me to surrender?”
He went rigid.
“Six years ago, when you chose to acknowledge her and that child, you should have committed to your choice.” I stared at his wedding band. “Don’t block my path at the airport. Don’t interfere in my marriage. She is your wife, and the mother of the heir you acknowledged.”
I paused.
“I’m just her sister, no blood relation. You’d do well to remember the line.”