Chapter 3
Victor led us into my father’s study.
I kept Emmett beside me.
Lucille objected.
“He is a child.”
“He is the reason everyone showed their face tonight,” I said.
She went silent.
Celina followed us in anyway.
So did two bodyguards.
Not mine.
My mother’s.
That told me enough.
Victor opened a leather folder on the desk.
His hands trembled.
Inside were papers bearing my signature.
Transfer agreements.
Trust revisions.
Temporary guardianship clauses.
My eyes moved over the lines.
At first, they made no sense.
Then they made too much.
If I publicly renounced the Montaro family, control of the estate would shift to Lucille.
If I was deemed emotionally unstable, Emmett’s guardianship could be reviewed.
If Emmett was considered neglected, a family-appointed guardian could step in.
Celina’s name appeared on the last page.
I looked up.
“You planned to take my son.”
Lucille’s expression did not change.
“We planned to protect the Montaro legacy.”
“My son is not a legacy.”
“He is weak.”
Emmett flinched.
I moved before thinking.
I stepped between them.
Lucille sighed.
“This is exactly what I mean. You let that child rule you with tears.”
“He is seven.”
“He is Montaro.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“No. He is my son.”
Celina leaned against the bookshelf.
“The court may see a father destroying a party in front of a child differently.”
Victor would not meet my eyes.
“You helped them.”
He whispered, “I was instructed by your mother.”
“You worked for me.”
“I worked for the trust.”
Lucille placed one finger on the papers.
“All you had to do was let us shape him.”
“Shape him into what?”
“Someone worthy.”
Emmett’s small voice came from behind me.
“I made the cookies because Mom used to make them.”
The room went silent.
My wife, Amara, had been dead for two years.
Lucille’s face hardened.
May you like
“That woman made him soft.”
Emmett whispered, “No. She made me kind.”
