Chapter 12 - The Patriarch's Collapse
Don Roman raised his heavy cane above his head, aiming to strike his treacherous nephew, but the surge of pure, unadulterated fury was too much for his aging heart.
A sharp, agonized gasp escaped the patriarch’s throat. His cane clattered against the marble floor, bouncing loudly before rolling to a stop at Althea’s feet. Don Roman clutched his left arm, his chest caving inward as he stumbled backward into the gilded altar chairs.
"Father!" Christian yelled, breaking out of his stupor and diving toward the old man.
Pandemonium erupted in the cathedral. Guests stood up in panic; whispers turned into frantic shouts. The Montecillo family physicians, seated in the second row, scrambled over the railings toward the altar.
"Get the defibrillator!" one of the doctors shouted. "His pulse is erratic! Angina attack!"
Vanessa tried to crawl toward Christian, her hands grasping at the hem of his trousers. "Christian! Christian, forgive me! He forced me! Marcus threatened my family! I love you, Christian, please look at me—"
"Get your filthy hands off me!" Christian roared, kicking her away with such violent revulsion that she tumbled onto the steps, her tiara snapping in half against the stone. "You disgust me! Don't you dare touch me!"
Amidst the screaming, the crying, and the medical chaos surrounding the dying patriarch, Althea remained completely motionless. She did not panic. She did not flinch.
Beside her, her four children stood calmly, protected by the circle of private guards. Alexander looked at the weeping Vanessa with cold disinterest. Julian held his brother’s hand. Seraphina simply looked at Don Roman, her green eyes reflecting the chaotic scene without a single tear.
Althea knelt down, scooped Don Roman’s fallen mahogany cane off the floor, and handed it to one of her guards.
Then she stepped toward the medical team surrounding Don Roman.
The old man was lying flat on the altar dais, oxygen being pumped into his lungs through a portable mask. His eyes, hazy with pain and shock, rolled until they found Althea standing above him.
His trembling hand reached out, his fingers weakly brushing the hem of her dark navy dress.
"Althea..." Don Roman rasped through the plastic mask, tears of humiliation leaking down his wrinkled cheeks. "The children... the true... blood... forgive... forgive me..."
May you like
Althea looked down at the man who had treated her like garbage, who had written a check to buy her soul, and who had discarded her like refuse on the street.
"Forgiveness is an expensive luxury, Don Roman," Althea said, her voice quiet enough that only he and Christian could hear. "And you are officially bankrupt."
