The Lost Ricci: Heir Back from the Dead

Chapter 2: Lost and Found

The world spun violently. Dante's knees buckled, and he grabbed the edge of a marble column to steady himself. Pregnant. The word echoed in his skull like a death knell.

"Careful there," Marcus called out mockingly. "Don't faint at your own wife's baby announcement. Oh wait—it's not your baby, is it?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Cruel, delighted laughter.

Dante's vision blurred. Giulia had always been adamant—she wasn't ready for motherhood. "Not now, Dante. Maybe in a few years. I have career goals. A baby would ruin everything." How many times had she said those exact words while insisting on protection during her fertile days? How many times had he respected her wishes, believing they were building toward a future together?

All lies. Every single word.

"This is pathetic," Lucia announced, snapping her fingers. "Security! Remove this man from my home. He's causing a scene."

Two burly men in black suits materialized on either side of Dante. Their grips were firm but not brutal as they guided him toward the door.

"Giulia," Dante called out desperately, twisting in their hold. "Please. Just talk to me. Explain—"

She didn't even turn around. Leonardo whispered something in her ear, and she laughed—a light, carefree sound that shattered what remained of Dante's composure.

"Pathetic," someone muttered.

"I almost feel sorry for him," another voice added, dripping with false sympathy.

"Sorry? Please. He should've known a girl like Giulia was out of his league from the start."

The doors slammed behind him with devastating finality. Dante stood on the front steps, breathing hard, his whole body trembling. The luxury vehicles in the driveway gleamed under the evening lights, monuments to everything he wasn't, everything he'd never be.

His phone buzzed. An email—the evacuation notice from his apartment. The place he'd shared with Giulia, the home he'd thought was theirs, belonged to her parents. He had seventy-two hours to remove his belongings.

Seventy-two hours. As if he had anywhere to go.

Dante stumbled down the driveway toward the street, his vision swimming. A taxi idled at the corner, and he climbed in mechanically.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Dante opened his mouth, but no address came. His mother had passed three years ago. His apartment was no longer his. Romano, his mentor, was in the hospital with pneumonia—he'd visited just yesterday, seen how frail the old man looked. He couldn't burden Romano with this.

"Just... drive," Dante finally said.

The driver shrugged and pulled away from the curb.

Dante's phone felt heavy in his hand. Dave. His colleague at La Clotier was the closest thing he had to a friend. He pressed the call button.

"Hey, Dante," Dave answered after four rings, his voice strangely tight. "What's up?"

"Dave, I—" Dante's voice cracked. "I need help. Something's happened, and I don't have anywhere to—"

"Look, man," Dave interrupted, speaking quickly. "I heard about Golden Fingers. That's rough. But I can't really... I mean, my place is small, and my girlfriend's moving in next week, so—"

"I just need a couch for a few nights. Please."

A long pause. "Dante, I want to help. Really. But Leonardo Greco is a big deal in this city. I can't afford to get on his bad side. You understand, right? It's just business. Nothing personal."

The line went dead.

Dante stared at his phone, Dave's rejection hitting harder than he'd expected. Nothing personal. Just business. The same excuse people always used when they chose self-preservation over loyalty.

"Sir?" The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "I need a destination."

"The waterfront," Dante said hollowly. "Drop me at Harbor Point."

His mother's voice echoed in his memory—that conversation they'd had five years ago, before the wedding. She'd been cleaning the Harrington estate, her hands raw from years of scrubbing other people's floors to put him through college.

"Dante, baby, are you sure about this girl?" she'd asked, worry creasing her tired face. "These wealthy types... they don't marry people like us because they love us. They marry us when they're rebelling or bored. And when they get tired of playing pretend, they go back to their own kind."

"Mom, Giulia's different," he'd insisted. "She loves me. We're building something real."

His mother had smiled sadly, squeezing his hand with her work-worn fingers. "I hope you're right, baby. I really do."

She'd died six months later, never living to see how right she'd been.

The taxi stopped at Harbor Point. Dante paid with the last bills in his wallet and walked toward the pier. The ocean stretched endlessly before him, dark and churning under the night sky. Waves crashed against the rocks, the sound almost violent in its intensity.

He stood at the edge, staring into the water. Everything he'd worked for, everyone he'd trusted—gone. What was left? A termination notice, divorce papers, and the crushing weight of humiliation.

"You know," a female voice said from behind him, sharp with sarcasm, "if you need a push, I can arrange that."

Dante spun around. A petite woman stood a few feet away, dressed in an elegant black sundress that seemed out of place at the abandoned pier. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, and her eyes assessed him with cold amusement.

"Excuse me?" Dante said.

"You're standing awfully close to the edge, looking awfully dramatic. I figured I'd offer to help speed up whatever sad little suicide attempt you're planning."

"I'm not—" Dante started, but movement in his peripheral vision cut him off.

Three men emerged from the shadows—large, professional, moving with military precision. Before Dante could react, they were on him. Strong hands grabbed his arms, yanking them behind his back.

"What the hell—" Dante struggled, but their grips were iron. "Let go of me!"

The woman approached calmly, pulling out her phone. "Get his blood," she ordered, her tone businesslike. "Full panel. DNA priority."

"Blood? What are you talking about?" Panic surged through Dante as one of the men produced a small medical kit. "You can't just—"

A needle pierced his arm. Dante watched in horror as his blood filled a vial, dark red under the pier lights.

"Wait, stop—" His words slurred. Something else had entered his system with that needle. The world tilted sideways, sounds becoming muffled and distant.

"Careful with him," the woman's voice echoed as if from underwater. "He's valuable."

Then everything went black.

Consciousness returned slowly, filtered through layers of fog. Dante's eyelids felt impossibly heavy. When he finally managed to open them, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling—pristine white, with recessed lighting that gave off a soft, expensive glow.

He tried to sit up, his body protesting. Every muscle ached. The room around him was exclusively white—walls, furniture, bedding—all designer quality that screamed wealth. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a city skyline he didn't immediately recognize.

"You're awake."

The same woman from the pier sat in a white leather chair near the window, legs crossed, watching him with that same cold assessment. In the better lighting, Dante could see she was younger than he'd initially thought—maybe late twenties—with sharp features and an air of absolute authority.

"Where am I?" Dante's voice came out rough. "You kidnapped me. That's—"

"Kidnapped is such a harsh word," the woman interrupted, standing gracefully. "I prefer 'retrieved.' And before you start threatening lawsuits, you might want to hear what I have to say."

"I don't care what you have to say. You drugged me. You—"

"My name is Selena Ricci," she said, cutting through his protests like a knife. "CEO of Apex Crown Holdings. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Dante had. Everyone had. Apex Crown Holdings was one of the top-tier companies in the country—real estate, technology, investments. They operated on a level that made Golden Fingers look like a lemonade stand.

"Good," Selena continued, noting his recognition. "That saves time. Now, Dante Moretti, I'm going to tell you something that will sound insane, but I have the DNA results to prove it." She paused, her expression never softening. "You're my brother. My long-lost, brother."