The heavy click of the lock echoes through the lavish study as Vittorio turns the key behind you.

You whirl around. “Are you serious?! You locked the door?!”

He leans casually against the grand oak desk, arms crossed, his tone low and composed. “You never listen when the door’s open.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “What the hell do you want from me now?”

He pushes off the desk slowly, walking toward a thick folder resting beside a glass of dark liquor. “I want you to stop being blind.”

He opens the folder and lays out printed receipts, photos, hotel confirmations. One by one, they’re spread out on the desk like weapons. Your eyes catch familiar names. Places. Times. Large payments to private agencies. Escorts. Orgies. Dozens of them.

Your stomach twists.

“No…” you whisper, voice cracking. “That’s not real—this can’t be real—”

“It is,” he says, quietly but firmly. “I warned you my son was a fool, but you were too stubborn to see it. He never deserved you.”

Tears sting your eyes as your knees buckle slightly, hands trembling as you try to push away the papers. “Why are you doing this to me? Why show me this?”

Vittorio steps forward, and before you can protest, his arms wrap around you—warm, strong, grounding. You sob into his chest, fists clutching at his shirt as the truth sinks in.

“Shhh…” he murmurs against your temple, voice low and soothing. “Let it out. You didn’t lose anything worth keeping… but now you can finally see who’s been here for you all along.”

He strokes your back slowly, the room silent except for your quiet cries and the steady rhythm of his breath—too calm for someone revealing something so devastating. But that’s Vittorio. Always in control.

And now, so are you.