HER CONTRACT HUSBAND IS THE COMMANDER KING

Chapter 6:

The jade sculpture lay on its side where Rocco had knocked it over during his humiliating fall. A small chip had broken off from the base, revealing the interior structure that Vincent had been waiting to see.

"Well, well," Vincent crouched down and picked up the fragment, examining it closely. "This makes things even clearer."

"What are you doing now?" Rocco demanded, still cradling his dislocated wrist. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

Vincent held the chip up to the light, his trained eye spotting exactly what he'd expected to find. "Look at these tool marks on the interior surface. See these perfectly parallel grooves?"

The crowd leaned in reluctantly, their curiosity overcoming their hostility.

"Those are from modern diamond-tipped carving equipment," Vincent continued matter-of-factly. "Ancient Chinese artisans used bronze and iron tools, which leave completely different markings. These grooves are barely six months old."

"You're making that up!" Rocco screamed. "How could you possibly know about ancient carving techniques?"

"I've had occasion to authenticate artifacts during my work in Asia," Vincent replied calmly. "You learn to spot the differences quickly when people's lives depend on it."

Giovanni Benedetti stepped forward, his face dark with fury. "Rocco, please tell me you didn't actually pay full price for this piece."

Rocco's face went ashen. "I... the dealer assured me it was authentic. He had documentation..."

"How much?" Giovanni's voice was deadly quiet.

"Three... three point two million," Rocco whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Vincent had to admire the audacity of the forger—three million was a respectable sum, though he'd spent more than that on lunch meetings without thinking twice.

"Three million euros," Giovanni repeated slowly, "for a fake."

"Papa, I can get the money back! The dealer guaranteed—"

"The dealer is probably on a yacht in the Caribbean by now," Vincent observed. "This is professional work. They don't stick around for returns."

"Shut up!" Rocco exploded. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't interfered—"

"If I hadn't interfered, your grandmother would be displaying a fake in her home for the rest of her life," Vincent cut him off. "At least now you know."

The festive atmosphere had completely evaporated, replaced by an uncomfortable tension that seemed to press down on everyone present. Family members who had been praising Rocco's generosity minutes earlier now avoided eye contact, embarrassed by their association with the debacle.

"Perhaps," Elisabetta's voice cut through the awkwardness, "we should move on to the final presentation. I believe we're still waiting for one more gift?"

As if summoned by her words, the ballroom doors opened and Kevin Romano made his entrance. Tall, impeccably dressed, and radiating the confidence that came with old money, he commanded immediate attention from every person in the room.

"Nonna Elisabetta!" Kevin's voice boomed across the space as he approached with arms outstretched. "Happy birthday, beautiful lady!"

"Kevin, darling!" Elisabetta's entire demeanor transformed, warmth replacing the stern authority she'd maintained all evening. "I was wondering when you'd arrive!"

Gianna tensed beside Vincent, her hand unconsciously moving closer to his. The man she'd been intended to marry was everything her family had wanted—wealthy, connected, charming in the way that came naturally to those born into privilege.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Kevin said, kissing Elisabetta's cheek with practiced ease. "I was waiting for the final preparations on your gift."

"Oh, you shouldn't have," Elisabetta protested, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Vincent quietly took Gianna's hand in his, feeling her tension. His calloused fingers, roughened by years of weapons training and combat exercises, were a stark contrast to her soft skin.

"Your hands smell like roses," he murmured close to her ear. "Did you handle the flower arrangement this morning?"

Gianna pulled her hand away sharply. "Don't."

"I was just making conversation," Vincent replied mildly.

"Well, don't," she hissed. "Not here. Not now."

Kevin gestured grandly toward the ballroom doors. "May I present your gift, Nonna?"

Four uniformed guards entered carrying a large, silk-covered frame. The crowd held its collective breath as Kevin personally removed the covering with theatrical flair.

The painting that was revealed drew gasps of genuine awe from every person in the room. Even Vincent, despite his vast experience with priceless art, had to admit it was an impressive piece.

"Nonna Elisabetta," Kevin announced with obvious pride, "I present to you Caravaggio's 'The Weeping Madonna,' painted in 1598. It's one of only twelve authenticated works by the master still in private hands."

The silence was profound as the crowd absorbed what they were seeing. This wasn't just expensive—this was historically significant, museum-quality art that belonged in the same conversation as the Mona Lisa.

"My God," someone whispered. "Is that really...?"

"Authenticated by the Vatican Museum," Kevin confirmed. "The provenance traces back to Cardinal Scipione Borghese's private collection."

Rocco's face had gone completely white. His fake jade sculpture, embarrassing as it was, had just been overshadowed by a gift worth more than most people would see in several lifetimes.

"Kevin, this is... this is incredible," Elisabetta breathed, tears actually forming in her eyes. "I can't possibly accept something so valuable."

"Nonsense!" Kevin waved away her protests. "Nothing is too precious for the woman who raised the most beautiful daughters in Italy. Besides, it belongs in the Benedetti family. Your legacy deserves to be preserved alongside the greatest masters of history."

The crowd erupted in appreciative murmurs, clearly impressed not just by the gift's value but by Kevin's smooth presentation.

"Now that's how you honor your elders," Isabella said loudly, her eyes pointedly avoiding Vincent. "Some people understand the importance of showing proper respect."

"Kevin has always been so thoughtful," another relative added. "So generous and cultured."

"Unlike certain others who shall remain nameless," came another pointed comment.

Vincent observed the display with tactical awareness, noting how Kevin had perfectly calculated every aspect of his presentation.

The timing, the buildup, the historical significance—it was a masterful performance designed to reinforce his position as the ideal son-in-law the family had lost.