Chapter 6 - The Weight of a Surname
Nico Rossi looked at his son the way a museum curator might look at a cracked, unauthentic artifact brought in by a fraudulent dealer.
"Liam," Nico said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom without raising a single decibel. "You are blocking the aisle. And your posture is appalling. Sit down or step back."
Liam’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. The humiliation of being publicly reprimanded by his father in front of New York’s elite elite was bad enough, but having it happen while Luna sat beside Nico looking like a queen on a throne pushed him past the brink of sanity.
"Dad, have you lost your mind?!" Liam shouted, his voice cracking upward in adolescent panic. "This... this woman is an accountant! She’s a nobody! She’s a commoner who lives in a cramped apartment in Tribeca! What is she doing sitting at the Rossi family table?"
Amber shoved her way past Liam, stepping onto the first riser of the dais, her face twisted in a mask of desperate venom. "Mr. Rossi, you don't understand! She’s unstable! She’s only here to make a scene because she couldn't keep her life together! We’re... we’re together now! Liam chose me!"
The moment Amber spoke those words, a collective gasp rippled through the nearest tables. We're together now? The socialites exchanged sharp, knowing glances. Whispers erupted like sparks in dry grass.
Did she just admit to stealing her sister's boyfriend? At a charity gala? In front of Nico Rossi?
Valentina Rossi let out a cold, crystalline laugh that cut through the murmurs like a scalpel. "My word," Valentina murmured, leaning back in her velvet chair. "The lack of breeding in the younger generation is truly staggering. Where did you find this creature, Liam? A dumpster behind an art school?"
Amber flinched as if she’d been physically struck, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Nico finally stood up.
At six feet two inches, with broad shoulders and an aura of absolute, unyielding authority, Nico towered over his son. The silence in the room became absolute. You could hear the ice melting in the glasses across the hall.
"Amber, is it?" Nico said, his voice dangerously soft.
Amber swallowed hard, nodding mutely.
"My son," Nico continued, his eyes cold as Arctic ice, "is a twenty-eight-year-old man who draws a paycheck from my foundation, lives in a condo purchased by my corporation, and spends his weekends playing golf on my dime. He is, by all legal and practical definitions, an employee who has consistently underperformed."
Liam staggered backward a step, his eyes wide with horror. "Dad... what are you talking about? I'm the vice-president of acquisitions—"
"You were the vice-president of acquisitions," Nico corrected him smoothly, sliding a crisp, white document out of his suit pocket and tossing it onto the table in front of him. "Effective five minutes ago, your corporate card is frozen, your access badge is deactivated, and your title has been reassigned to regional inventory supervisor in upstate Buffalo."
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Upstate Buffalo. Exile to the frozen industrial wasteland of New York State.
"Buffalo?!" Liam screamed, lunging forward toward the dais. "You can't do that! I'm your son! I'm your blood!"
Security guards materialized out of nowhere, four massive men in dark suits stepping seamlessly between Liam and the dais, their heavy hands resting firmly on Liam’s shoulders.
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Nico didn't even blink. He turned his gaze back to Luna, his expression softening just a fraction—enough for everyone in the room to see the profound shift in the power dynamic.
"Blood," Nico said quietly, looking down at Liam with utter contempt, "makes you a relative. Character makes you a Rossi. And you, Liam, have none."
