Chapter 154 Your honour

Chapter 154 Your honour
The morning light was too bright, too clinical, like it was already interrogating us. I stood in the center of our dressing room, the air thick with the scent of Mateo's cologne and the lingering, humid warmth of the shower.

My fingers felt like lead as I reached up to straighten his silk tie. I've done this a dozen times, but today, my hands wouldn't stop that tiny, traitorous tremble. I focused on the knot, my knuckles brushing the crisp white of his collar.

"Stop," Mateo murmured.

I didn't. I smoothed the lapel of his charcoal suit jacket instead. "It's crooked."

"Isabella." He caught my wrists.

His palms were hot, his grip firm enough to ground me but gentle enough. I finally looked up. His jaw was a hard, angular line, the muscle near his ear ticking rhythmically. His eyes, usually so unreadable to the world, were swirling with a dark, restless storm.

"You're overthinking," he said, his voice a low vibration I felt in my own chest.

"And you're holding your breath," I countered, my voice low. 

I reached up, cupping his face. The silver at his temples seemed more prominent today. "We aren't losing him, Mateo. We aren't."

He didn't answer. He just leaned into my touch for a heartbeat, closing his eyes, before pulling me into him. He didn't hug me; he anchored me. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, my hand instinctively dropping to the slight curve of my belly. 

Yeah, right.

A soft thud at the door made us break apart.

Lucian stood there. He looked smaller than thirteen, swallowed up by a navy sweater, his hair unusually neat. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin a sallow, sickly pale. He didn't say a word; he just looked at us with a hollowed-out expression that broke my heart into a million jagged pieces.

"Ready, Lu?" Mateo asked, his voice instantly shifting into 'Father Mode'-strong, steady, unshakable.

Lucian just gave a jerky, miserable nod.

The interior of the SUV was a vacuum. Jake was at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror with a grim professional intensity. Usually, he'd make a joke or comment on the traffic, but today he was silent, a shadow at the front of our crumbling world.

I sat in the middle, sandwiched between the two most important men in my life. Mateo was a statue to my left, his fingers laced tightly together, knuckles white. To my right, Lucian was staring out the window, his breath fogging the glass.

Then, the first sob broke.

It was a jagged, wet sound. Lucian curled into himself, his knees pulling up toward his chest. "I'm not going," he choked out, the words muffled by his sleeves. "I won't. If they try to make me leave with him... with them... I'll run. I'll jump out of the car. I'm not going back to that house."

"Lucian, hey..." I moved, pulling his shaking frame into my side. He collapsed against me, burying his face in my neck, his tears soaking into my blouse.

"He's not my dad!" Lucian screamed, the sound echoing off the leather interior. "He's a monster! He choked me, Isabella! He almost... he almost killed me! Why does the law care about his blood? Why doesn't it care that I hate him?"

Mateo's entire body went rigid. I looked over and saw his fist slam silently into his own thigh, his eyes burning with a helpless, feral rage. He wanted to scream too. He wanted to tear the world down to keep this boy safe, but he was trapped by a system that demanded "biological proof" over a decade of love.

"You are a Rossi," Mateo said, his voice cracking just once. "In every way that matters, you are mine. I will burn every cent I own, I will fight every person in that building, but you are staying with us."

Lucian just shook harder. I held him, my hand stroking his hair, whispering words I prayed were true, while my other hand stayed protectively over my womb. I felt the low ache returning-the stress manifesting in my body-but I ignored it. I had to be the bridge.

The courthouse was a monolith of cold marble and echoing footsteps. The air was thin, smelling of old paper and floor wax. Security was tight, the metal detectors beeping like a countdown.

As we turned the corner toward Courtroom 4B, the atmosphere curdled.

Valentina was leaning against the wall, looking immaculate in a cream-colored power suit. She looked like a queen, but as we approached, I saw her thumb frantically digging into her own palm-a tiny, nervous twitch. When her eyes landed on Lucian, something flickered-a brief, pained flash of recognition that looked almost like love-before she masked it with a smug, porcelain smirk.

Beside her stood Rafiq. He looked like a shark in a tailored suit, his eyes cold and triumphant. He didn't even look at Lucian as a person; he looked at him like a trophy he was about to reclaim. His lawyer, a man with a sharp nose and a briefcase that looked like a weapon, was whispering in his ear.

Elena stood further back, her face pale, her hands clutching her purse so hard her knuckles were purple. She caught my eye and gave a small, terrified nod. She was our star witness, but she looked like she was heading to the gallows.

"Don't look at them," Mateo muttered, his hand flat against the small of my back, guiding us past the lions.

Inside, the room was small and oppressive. The judge, a woman named Miller with a face like carved granite, sat behind the high bench. There were no cameras, no cheering crowds. Just the sound of a clock ticking on the wall.

The hearing was a slow-motion nightmare.

Our lawyer, Marcus, was brilliant. He spoke of the "best interests of the child." He called Elena to the stand. Her voice shook as she described the Morning I was at the hospital-the way Rafiq's hand had clamped around Lucian's throat, the bruises, the terror and when he had shoved her to get to the kid. I watched the judge's pen move across her notepad. 

Then it was their turn.

Rafiq's lawyer didn't argue the violence. He bypassed it. "A single moment of corrected discipline," he called it. I nearly stood up and screamed.
Instead, he went for the jugular! To fucking snap it.

"Your Honor, we have a biological mother and a biological father. We have a stable home in the same city. We have a child who has been brainwashed by Mr. Rossi-a man with a history of recent merciless violence and a deep-seated obsession with a child that is not his."

I felt Mateo's hand tighten on mine. His skin was ice cold.

"Mr. Rossi portrays himself as the grieving, deceived father," the lawyer continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "He claims he was 'blinded' by love. But the truth is much more calculated."

The lawyer turned, looking directly at Mateo with a predatory grin.

"Mr. Rossi didn't find out about the paternity last month. He didn't find out when the news broke. He has known since. He did the DNA last year but he has always known that Lucian wasn't his."

The silence that followed was deafening. The clock on the wall seemed to stop.

I felt the air leave my lungs. I turned to look at Mateo, expecting him to roar, to deny it, to call it a lie.

But Mateo didn't move. He didn't blink. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his silence acting like a confession that echoed louder than any shout.

My heart began to hammer against my ribs, a frantic, sickly rhythm. He knew? If he knew and kept it a secret, he had lied to the courts. He had lied to the world. He had potentially committed fraud to keep custody.
Rafiq leaned back, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face.

"Your Honor," the lawyer whispered into the dead air. "Mr. Rossi isn't a victim of a lie. He is the architect of one. If he wanted to be truthful or pained about the secret, what didn't he say as soon as he found out?"

I looked at Mateo, my vision blurring. He didn't look back at me. He just looked like a man waiting for the floor to drop out from under him.

The judge looked up from her notes, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. "Mr. Rossi?"

And the world went still.