When the Loser Became rich heir

CHAPTER 6

Chapter Six

Director Fontana stared at Luca with something approaching awe. "Mr. Romano, I've worked in medicine for four decades. I've met philanthropists, millionaires, billionaires. But never someone who..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You have more wealth than most could dream of, yet your first thought is helping strangers. That's extraordinary."

Luca felt heat creep up his neck. "It's not extraordinary. It's basic decency."

"If only that were true," a feminine voice said from behind them.

Luca turned to see a striking woman in her early thirties approaching. She wore a crisp blazer and carried a professional camera around her neck. Her dark eyes were sharp with intelligence.

"Forgive the intrusion," she said, extending her hand. "Bianca Ferraro, investigative journalist with the Metropolitan Tribune. I witnessed everything that just happened." Her expression was solemn. "That was one of the most powerful displays of compassion I've seen. Would you allow me to publish this story? The public needs to know about your generosity."

Luca hesitated. "I don't want attention—"

"Not for you," Bianca interrupted gently. "For the fund. Think of how many families will benefit if people know about it. Donations could pour in. Lives could be saved."

She had a point. Luca nodded slowly. "Alright. But I have one condition—don't show my face clearly. Keep my identity private."

Bianca's lips curved into a respectful smile. "Absolutely. You have my word, Mr. Romano."

Director Fontana clasped Luca's shoulder. "Thank you, son. Truly. Now, let's focus on what matters most—your mother. I'm personally overseeing her case. We'll move her to our premier ward immediately and schedule her surgery within the hour. Our best cardiac surgeon will perform the operation."

Relief flooded through Luca like a wave. "Thank you, Director."

"No," Fontana said quietly. "Thank you."

As the director hurried off to make arrangements, Luca's phone buzzed. Unknown number again.

"Mr. Romano?" The same professional female voice from earlier—Caterina from Galaxy Tech. "I'm calling with an update. Starting today, I'll be your exclusive personal assistant. My name is Caterina Russo, and I'll be managing your schedule and affairs."

"I don't need—"

"Additionally," Caterina continued smoothly, "Lorenzo De Luca, the wealthiest man in the city, has requested the honor of hosting a banquet in your honor this evening. Seven o'clock at The White Whale, the city's most prestigious restaurant. I've taken the liberty of accepting on your behalf. I'm currently at the hospital entrance to escort you."

Luca's head spun. "Wait, I can't just—"

"I'll explain everything in the car, sir. I'm in the black Mercedes by the main entrance."

The call ended.

Luca walked through the hospital's automatic doors in a daze. A sleek black Mercedes sat at the curb, gleaming under the afternoon sun. Standing beside it was a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine—tall, elegant, with chestnut hair pulled back in a flawless bun. She wore a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than Luca used to make in a year.

"Mr. Romano." She stepped forward with a respectful nod. "Caterina Russo. It's an honor to serve as your assistant."

Every person walking past was staring. Some pulled out their phones. Luca felt his face burning.

"Please," he muttered. "Can we just get in the car?"

Caterina opened the rear door smoothly. Once they were inside the leather-scented interior, she handed him a sleek black card.

"Your STAR Bank Elite card," she explained. "Your current deposits exceed one billion dollars. This card has no spending limit."

Luca turned the metal card over in his hands. It was heavy, cold, real.

"Before the banquet," Caterina continued, "we need to get you properly attired. I'm taking you to Galleria Roma, the city's premier shopping destination. Top floor—Bellissimo, the most exclusive boutique in the region."

Twenty minutes later, Luca found himself stepping into a store that looked more like a museum than a shop. Everything was white marble, gold fixtures, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Classical music played softly. The air smelled like expensive leather and subtle cologne.

Caterina guided him to an opulent VIP lounge—cream leather sofas, a crystal chandelier, complimentary champagne on a side table.

"Wait here," she instructed. "I'm going to speak with Giorgio Armani's local representative. He owes me a favor. We'll have a custom suit made for you within hours."

"Giorgio Armani?" Luca's voice cracked slightly.

Caterina smiled. "You're the chairman of a hundred-billion-dollar company, Mr. Romano. You need to look the part." She disappeared through a doorway marked 'Private.'

Luca sank into the sofa, overwhelmed. This morning he'd been begging for scraps. Now he was sitting in a VIP lounge waiting for an Armani suit. It felt surreal.

Heavy footsteps made him look up.

A grotesquely overweight man waddled into the VIP area, his designer shirt straining against his belly. Beside him clung a woman plastered in so much makeup she looked like a wax figure. Her lips were injected to absurd proportions, her dress so tight it left nothing to imagination.

The woman's eyes landed on Luca. Her nose wrinkled as if she'd smelled something rotten.

"Oh my God, Salvatore," she said loudly, her nasal voice grating. "Why would the most expensive luxury store in the entire city let a beggar into the VIP lounge? This is disgusting."

Luca's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

Salvatore's piggy eyes swept over Luca's faded jeans and worn sneakers. His fat lips curled into a sneer. "She's right. You look like you crawled out of a homeless shelter. What are you doing here? Trying to steal something?"

"I'm here to buy clothes," Luca said evenly, keeping his temper in check.

The woman—her name tag read 'Francesca'—threw back her head and cackled. "Buy clothes? HERE? Oh, that's precious! Honey, a single sock in this store costs more than you make in a month!"

Salvatore pulled out a gold card and waved it at a passing sales assistant. "You! Yes, you! Come here right now!"

A nervous young woman in a black uniform hurried over. "Yes, Mr. Moretti? How can I help you?"

"I'm a VIP member," Salvatore announced, his multiple chins wobbling with indignation. "Platinum level. I spend over two hundred thousand dollars here annually. And I want to know why there's trash sitting in the VIP lounge."

The sales assistant's eyes darted to Luca, confusion crossing her face.

"Answer me!" Salvatore bellowed. "Did this street rat sneak in here? Because if your security is this pathetic, maybe

I should take my business to Versace instead!"