Chapter 4 - The Matriarch’s Call
Rocco did not hesitate. He walked over to the desk, picked up the phone, and clicked the speaker button.
“Rocco,” the smooth, refined voice of Beatrice Duca echoed through the quiet study. She sounded like an aristocrat addressing a minor inconvenience. “Dr. Aris called me in a state of absolute hysteria. He claims you assaulted him in a public alleyway in Boston.”
Rocco stared at the glowing phone, his hand gripping the edge of the mahogany desk so hard the wood groaned.
“Aris is lucky to be breathing, Mother,” Rocco said, his tone devoid of any human warmth.
A brief pause answered him from the other end of the line.
“I assume,” Beatrice said smoothly, “that you have re-encountered the florist’s daughter.”
“Her name is Serena,” Rocco spat. “She is my wife. And she is the mother of my three children.”
Beatrice let out a soft, dismissive sigh that made Rocco’s blood run cold.
“Rocco, my dearest boy,” Beatrice said gently, as if speaking to a foolish child. “You always were too romantic for the business we conduct. That woman was a mistake from the beginning. She had no lineage, no discipline. When she fled five years ago, I cleaned up the mess so you could focus on securing the European shipping contracts. If she has brought children into the picture now, we must handle it quietly.”
“Handle it?” Rocco whispered. “How were you planning to handle them five years ago, Mother? With Dr. Aris’s syringes?”
Silence fell over the line. Cold, sharp, and calculated.
“She told you,” Beatrice said, her voice instantly dropping its gentle facade, turning into the hard, merciless steel that had kept the Duca family alive through three mob wars. “She was never meant to be a mother to Duca heirs, Rocco. She is weak. If those children are indeed yours, they belong at the estate in Beacon Hill, under my direct tutelage. They will be raised as Ducas. The girl—Serena—will be given a generous financial settlement and sent back to whatever quiet corner of the world she crawled out of.”
Serena, standing near the fireplace, gasped, pulling her hand to her mouth.
Rocco leaned over the desk, his eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute darkness.
“Listen to me very carefully, Beatrice,” Rocco said, dropping the word ‘Mother’ entirely. “You took five years of my life. You made me believe the woman I loved had abandoned me. You tried to murder my unborn children.”
“Rocco—”
“If you set one foot on the grounds of Cliff House,” Rocco growled, “if you send one guard, one lawyer, or one doctor anywhere near my family, I will release every ledger, every offshore account, and every wiretap record your late husband left in the vault. I will tear down Duca Enterprises until there is nothing left of your precious empire but dust.”
“You wouldn't dare,” Beatrice snapped, real anger finally breaking through her cold mask. “You are a Duca!”
“I am a father,” Rocco said. “And I am Serena’s husband. Never call this number again.”
Rocco slammed the phone down onto the cradle, pulled the battery from the casing, and threw the device directly into the stone fireplace. It melted instantly among the red-hot embers.
He turned back to Serena.
She was looking at him with wide, stunned eyes. For five years, she had lived in terror of Donna Beatrice Duca—a woman who seemed to control every judge, politician, and police chief in New England. But in thirty seconds, Rocco had severed his ties with the matriarch completely, choosing a penniless ex-wife and three hidden children over a multi-billion-dollar empire.
“You… you just destroyed your position in the family,” Serena whispered.
May you like
Rocco walked over to her, stopping inches away. He reached out, his heavy, scarred hand trembling slightly as he gently touched the side of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
“I didn't destroy anything that mattered,” Rocco said softly, looking into her eyes. “My family is standing right here in front of me.”
