Page 17 of The Bratty Heir

Rocco nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He could do this. He had to.

The abandoned warehouse loomed before them, its weathered exterior belying the high-stakes meeting about to take place inside. As they stepped out of the car, Victor's hand came to rest on the small of Rocco's back, a subtle show of support and possession.

"Ready?" Victor asked, his voice low and intense.

Rocco squared his shoulders, channeling every ounce of Rossetti confidence he could muster. "Ready as I'll ever be."

They entered the warehouse, the dim lighting and musty air a stark contrast to the opulence Rocco was used to. Several men in expensive suits were already gathered around a makeshift table, their expressions guarded and calculating.

Rocco recognized most of them—representatives from allied families, each with their own agenda. But one face stood out, a newcomer with sharp features and cold, assessing eyes.

Marco Bianchi. The rising star of a rival family, known for his cunning and ruthless ambition.

As Rocco and Victor approached the table, Marco's gaze locked onto Rocco, a predatory smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well," Marco drawled, his voice dripping with false charm. "If it isn't the Rossetti prince himself. How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

Rocco bristled at the condescension in Marco's tone, but Victor's steadying presence at his back kept him grounded.

"Gentleman," Rocco said, addressing the room at large. "Shall we begin?"

For the next hour, Rocco navigated the treacherous waters of mafia politics with a skill that surprised even himself. He fielded questions, made counteroffers, and held his ground against men twice his age and experience.

Through it all, Victor was a constant presence at his side, offering subtle guidance with a touch or a whispered word. Rocco drew strength from the older man's unwavering support, finding reserves of confidence he didn't know he possessed.

But as the negotiations reached their climax, Marco Bianchi made his move.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Marco said, his voice dripping with false sympathy, "but it seems the Rossetti family may not be in a position to make good on their promises."

Rocco's blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"

Marco's smile was shark-like as he slid a folder across the table. "It appears your father's illness has taken a turn for the worse. Word on the street is, he doesn't have long left. And with such an... inexperienced heir waiting in the wings, well. One has to wonder about the stability of the Rossetti empire."

Murmurs of concern rippled through the gathered men. Rocco's mind raced, panic threatening to overwhelm him. How did Marco know about his father's condition? And more importantly, how could he salvage this disaster?

He felt Victor tense beside him, the older man's body coiled like a spring ready to snap. But before Victor could intervene, Rocco found his voice.

"Gentlemen," he said, forcing his tone to remain steady and authoritative. "I assure you, the Rossetti family's position is as strong as ever. My father's health is a private matter, but I can guarantee that our business dealings will not be affected."

Marco's eyes narrowed, clearly not expecting such a composed response. "Bold words from such a young man," he sneered. "But can you back them up?"

Rocco's mind raced, searching for a way to regain control of the situation. Then, like a bolt of lightning, inspiration struck.

"As a matter of fact," Rocco said, a slow smile spreading across his face, "I can. Victor, if you would?"

Victor raised an eyebrow, but reached into his jacket to retrieve a slim file. Rocco took it, his fingers brushing Victor's in a touch that sent sparks skittering across his skin.

"What I'm about to show you is highly confidential," Rocco said, addressing the room at large. "But in light of Mr. Bianchi's concerns, I think it's necessary to lay all our cards on the table."

He opened the file, revealing a series of documents detailing a massive expansion of Rossetti operations. It was a risky move, showing their hand like this, but Rocco knew it was their only chance to salvage the deal.

As the other men pored over the documents, expressions of surprise and grudging respect dawning on their faces, Rocco caught Marco's eye. The older man's façade had cracked, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"As you can see," Rocco said, his voice gaining confidence with each word, "the Rossetti family is not only stable but thriving. My father has prepared me well for this role, and I intend to lead our organization into a new era of prosperity and power."

He leaned forward, fixing Marco with a steely gaze. "So, Mr. Bianchi. Do you have any other concerns you'd like to address?"

Marco's jaw clenched, but he shook his head. "No," he ground out. "I believe you've made your point... quite effectively."

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