When the Loser Became rich heir

CHAPTER 7

Chapter Seven

Luca's hands curled into fists. Salvatore's arrogance was suffocating, and the way he spoke—like Luca was less than human—made his blood boil.

Before he could respond, the young sales assistant who had greeted him earlier stepped forward nervously. "Mr. Moretti, please. This gentleman is absolutely a customer of our store. I personally witnessed Ms. Russo bring him in. She's one of our most valued—"

"Ms. Russo?" Francesca's shrill laugh cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, I get it now! This pathetic loser is your broke boyfriend, isn't he? You snuck him in here thinking nobody would notice!"

The sales assistant—her name tag read Giulia—went pale. "No! That's not—"

"Admit it!" Francesca jabbed a finger at Giulia, her fake nails glittering. "You brought your deadbeat boyfriend to this fancy store so he could steal something expensive. Maybe a wallet? A tie? Something he could pawn for drug money?"

"I would never—" Giulia's voice trembled.

"You disgust me," Francesca spat. "People like you and your gutter-trash boyfriend make me sick. You're both parasites. Worse than parasites—at least parasites serve a purpose in the ecosystem. You two are just walking garbage."

Salvatore grinned, his fat face gleaming with sweat. "I'm calling the manager. This store's reputation is going to tank if word gets out they're letting homeless people and their pathetic girlfriends wander around the VIP section."

"Please, Mr. Moretti," Giulia begged. "If you just let me explain—"

Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of a middle-aged woman in a severe black suit. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it looked painful, and her expression could have frozen lava. The name tag on her lapel read: Valentina Conti, Store Manager.

"What is going on here?" Valentina demanded, her voice sharp as broken glass.

Salvatore puffed up like an indignant toad. "Finally! Someone with authority. This sales girl brought her beggar boyfriend into the VIP lounge. They're probably planning to rob the place."

Valentina's cold eyes swept over Luca, taking in every detail of his worn clothing with obvious disdain. She didn't ask a single question. She didn't request Giulia's side of the story.

"Giulia," Valentina said icily. "Apologize to Mr. Moretti immediately, take your boyfriend, and leave. You have thirty seconds before I call the police."

"But Ms. Conti!" Giulia's eyes filled with tears. "He's not my boyfriend! Ms. Russo brought him here. He's a real customer, I swear—"

"I don't want to hear your lies," Valentina snapped. "You've embarrassed this establishment. You've violated our standards. Apologize. Now."

"Ms. Conti, please just listen—"

"Twenty seconds."

Francesca smirked, her grotesque lips stretched wide. "This is perfect. I love watching trash get taken out."

Luca had heard enough. Rage pounded through his veins like molten steel. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black STAR Bank card, holding it up for everyone to see.

"Tell me something," Luca said, his voice dangerously quiet. "If I can afford this, do I really need to steal from your store?"

Valentina's eyes narrowed. She snatched the card from Luca's hand, examining it under the chandelier light. Then she laughed—a harsh, mocking sound.

"A black STAR Bank card?" She turned it over. "Please. This is the worst forgery I've ever seen. Did you make this in your basement with a printer? Or did you buy it from some scam website for twenty dollars?"

"That's real," Luca said through gritted teeth.

"Real?" Valentina's laugh grew louder. "Real cards have holograms, magnetic strips that work, embedded chips. This is plastic trash, just like you." She held the card between two fingers, waving it mockingly. "You really thought you could fool us with this pathetic fake?"

Salvatore wheezed with laughter, his belly jiggling. "Oh my God, he actually tried! He thought he was so clever!"

Francesca was practically cackling. "What a loser! What a complete and utter loser! He probably found this in a dumpster and thought, 'Oh, this will make me look rich!' You're dumber than a sack of rocks, you know that?"

Valentina's expression turned vicious. She raised the card high—then threw it to the ground with force. It skittered across the marble floor, coming to rest near Giulia's feet.

"Security!" Valentina barked into her radio. "VIP lounge. Now. We have a situation."

"You're making a mistake," Luca said, his voice shaking with barely controlled fury.

"The only mistake," Valentina hissed, "was letting filth like you step foot in my store. Guards! Remove this trash immediately!"

Two security guards in black suits appeared from the main floor, moving toward Luca with purpose.

"Wait!"

The voice rang out like a whip crack. Every head turned.

Caterina Russo strode into the VIP lounge, her heels clicking authoritatively against marble. Beside her walked an elderly man with silver hair, an impeccably tailored navy suit, and an air of unquestionable authority. His lined face was flushed with anger.

"What in God's name is happening here?" Maestro Giorgio Bellini demanded, his Italian accent thick with fury. "Stop this instant!"

Valentina's face lit up like she'd found a savior. She rushed forward, words tumbling out. "Maestro Giorgio! Thank goodness you're here! This vagrant tried to pass off a fake card, and when we caught him, he became violent. His girlfriend—one of our own staff—helped him infiltrate the VIP area. I was just having them removed—"

Giorgio's face went from red to white in an instant. His eyes locked onto Luca, and something like terror crossed his features.

Then, to everyone's shock, Maestro Giorgio Bellini—fashion icon, designer to royalty, a man who'd dressed three presidents and countless celebrities—bowed deeply at the waist.

"Mr. Romano," Giorgio said, his voice trembling. "Please accept my most profound apologies. This is unforgivable."

Silence crashed over the VIP lounge like a tidal wave.

Valentina's mouth fell open. Salvatore's smug grin evaporated. Francesca's face went slack, her heavy makeup suddenly looking like a grotesque mask.

Caterina stepped forward, her expression carved from ice. "Valentina Conti, you are terminated effective immediately. Salvatore Moretti, your VIP membership is permanently revoked. Both of you are banned from every Bellissimo location worldwide."

"What?" Salvatore's voice pitched into a squeak. "You can't—on what authority—who the hell do you think you are?"

Caterina's smile was colder than arctic wind. "I'm speaking on behalf of the owner. And the person you just insulted, mocked, and threw out—" she gestured to Luca, "—is Luca Romano. He owns this store. He owns this entire mall, actually."

The words hung in the air like an executioner's blade.

Then Salvatore's knees buckled, and

Francesca's scream echoed through the boutique.