Chapter 9 - THE SOVEREIGN DECREE
Alejandro held the photograph before Victor Sterling’s face.
The bright afternoon sunlight pouring through the arched entryway illuminated the image: Sofia Moretti, radiant and defiant on the Swiss terrace, holding the four infants in her lap, with the Geneva clinic's seal clearly visible in the corner.
Victor Sterling’s face drained of every drop of color. His eyes bulged behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, his jaw dropping open in sheer, catastrophic horror.
“No…” Sterling choked out, the papers in his hand fluttering as his fingers began to shake violently. “This… this is impossible. She was sick. She was sterile from the treatments… the medical reports from Zurich said—”
“The medical reports that you paid for, Victor?” Alejandro whispered, his voice dropping into a register that sounded like earth falling onto a coffin lid.
Sterling stumbled backward, his back hitting the marble rim of the entryway fountain. “Alejandro… listen to me… I didn't know… we were told the line was extinct…”
“My wife knew you were coming for my blood four years ago,” Alejandro said, stepping forward, his broad chest pressing against Sterling’s space, driving the breath from the older man’s lungs. “She knew that if you discovered she was carrying my children, you would have had her poisoned in that clinic. She sacrificed her health, her comfort, and her final years to keep my sons breathing in the dark while you plotted your pathetic little corporate coup.”
Alejandro turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto the two private security operators standing behind Sterling.
“You two,” Alejandro commanded, his voice cracking like a bullwhip. “Who pays your contracts?”
The two operators looked at each other, then at Alejandro’s towering, muscular frame, and finally at Marcus, who had already stepped away from the wall, his hand resting beneath his tailored jacket.
“Moretti Holdings, sir,” the lead operator muttered, his voice tight with military discipline.
“Then understand this,” Alejandro said, his tone carrying the absolute, uncontested finality of an emperor. “Victor Sterling has just committed felony trespass, corporate fraud, and attempted extortion on sovereign family grounds. Disarm him. Take his briefcase. And if he takes another breath without my permission, throw him into the lake.”
The two operators didn't hesitate for a single second.
They grabbed Victor Sterling by the arms, twisting the older man around with brutal efficiency, snatching the leather briefcase from his hands.
“Alejandro, wait!” Sterling screamed, his dignity shattering into hysterical terror as he was dragged toward the open front doors. “We can negotiate! The trust can be restructured! Alejandro, please!”
“Marcus,” Alejandro said, not even turning to watch the man being dragged down the steps.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Call the district attorney. Call the federal banking commission. I want every asset, every account, and every shell company tied to the Sterling name frozen by five o'clock. And notify the press corps.”
May you like
Alejandro paused, looking out through the open doors at the autumn leaves swirling across the driveway.
“Tell them,” Alejandro murmured, a deep, triumphant warmth spreading through his chest, “that the Moretti dynasty has four new heirs.”
