Chapter 3 - The Invalidation of Ink
Dante’s eyes raked down the legal document, tracing clauses that surrendered three hundred million dollars of prime real estate.
Every parcel of commercial waterfront, every commercial high-rise, and the ancestral estate itself were assigned away without consideration.
The beneficiary named in bold, arrogant letters was none other than Victoria Vance.
At the bottom of the final page, resting right above the notarized stamp, was a dark, looping signature purporting to be Sofia Moretti.
Dante felt a cold, volcanic pressure building behind his ribs, suffocating every remnant of affection he had ever harbored for the blonde.
He lowered the document slowly, his dark eyes shifting down toward his mother’s lap.
Donna Sofia’s right arm was not resting freely against the velvet cushion.
Her entire right forearm and wrist were encased in a rigid, light-gray medical brace fastened by three heavy Velcro straps.
Two months ago, a severe degenerative nerve condition had crippled her dominant hand, leaving the fingers curled and completely immobile.
She could not hold a silver spoon to take her morning broth, let alone grip a fountain pen to sign legal documents.
The signature on the parchment was bold, fluid, and written with an aggressive, flourishes-laden slant.
It was the signature of a person with full motor function and an impatient, predatory pulse.
Dante turned his head slowly, the muscles in his neck standing out like steel cables beneath his collar.
Behind him, Victoria stood frozen, the rehearsed panic on her glamorous face beginning to curdle into naked dread.
She noticed the gray folder in his hand, and the blood visibly drained from her contoured cheekbones.
Her glossy lips parted, but no sound came out except a pathetic, rattling intake of breath.
On the floor beside the grand banquet table, Elena was still curled on her side, softly whimpering as she held her bruised cheek.
“Dante, darling, listen to me,” Victoria stammered, taking a tiny step backward toward the arched corridor.
“The maid was trying to rob the safe... she brought those papers to force your mother to sign them!” she lied desperately.
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Dante did not blink; his stare pinned her to the spot like a specimen in a display case.
“My mother hasn’t held a pen in eight weeks, Victoria,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
