Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

Chapter 169 - 170 | You Sound Like Your Mother

"I’m Rome D’Angelo. Your son. The one you gave up on."

"No. Rome was weak. Unfocused. Incapable of basic discipline. Whatever happened to change that—"

"Nothing happened. I just stopped pretending to be what you wanted and started becoming what I needed to be."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

Another long silence. Then, slowly, Vito smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator recognizing another predator.

"Interesting," he said. "Very interesting."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It’s an observation. You’ve grown teeth, Rome. I wasn’t sure you had it in you."

"Lots of things you weren’t sure about. Doesn’t make them less true."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city below. "Vanguard will try to lock you into a long-term contract. Standard practice for promising recruits. They’ll offer signing bonuses and performance incentives and make it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime."

"I know."

"Do you also know that their standard contracts include exclusivity clauses that would prevent you from any business dealings with Angelo Corp for the duration of your employment?"

"I figured something like that was coming."

"And you’re still planning to meet with them?"

"I’m planning to hear what they have to say. That’s not the same as accepting."

Vito turned back to face me. "What do you want, Rome? Really want. Not the posturing you’ve been doing since you walked in. What’s your actual goal?"

I thought about it. About the system’s requirements and the quest looming over my head. About the women I’d dragged into this mess. About the life I was building from the ashes of someone else’s failure.

"Freedom," I said. "The ability to make my own choices without someone else pulling the strings."

"Nobody gets that. Not really."

"Maybe not. But I can get close."

"And you think defying me is the path to that?"

"I think establishing that I’m not your puppet is the first step. Everything else comes after."

He considered this for a long moment. Then he walked back to his desk and pulled something from a drawer. A folder, thick with documents.

"There’s a clause in the family trust," he said. "One your grandfather added before he died. It states that any D’Angelo heir who achieves Three-Star hero certification before the age of twenty-five receives automatic control of their inheritance plus a seat on the corporate board."

I hadn’t known that. Neither had the original Rome, based on the memories I’d inherited.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you’re the first D’Angelo in three generations who might actually qualify." He set the folder on the desk. "The current standings have you ranked seventh in your class for combat performance. Top five would put you on track for Three-Star provisional certification by graduation. If you maintain that trajectory—"

"Then I get what I want without having to fight you for it."

"Essentially."

"What’s the catch?"

"No catch. Just an observation." He met my eyes. "Your grandfather was the last person in this family who truly understood power. How to build it. How to keep it. How to wield it without becoming its slave. I see something similar in you."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It’s a warning. Power attracts enemies. The kind you’re building right now, with your matches and your abilities and your very public displays of competence, will bring attention you might not be ready for."

"I can handle attention."

"Can you? The NEA has protocols for people like you, Rome. People with abilities that don’t fit their categories. People who represent potential threats to the established order. If they decide you’re dangerous—"

"Then I’ll deal with it."

"You’ll deal with it." He laughed, short and sharp. "You sound like your mother."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one." He pushed the folder toward me. "Take this. Read it. Understand what you’re fighting for before you start swinging."

I picked up the folder. It was heavier than it looked.

"This doesn’t mean we’re on the same side," I said.

"I never assumed we were. But you’re still my son, Rome. Whatever else has changed about you, that hasn’t."

"Is that supposed to make me feel something?"

"Feel whatever you want. Just don’t let it make you stupid."

I tucked the folder under my arm. "We’re done here."

"For now."

Cheon and Mera stood when I turned toward the door. We walked out together, leaving Vito Angelo alone in his glass tower.

The elevator doors closed behind us.

"That went better than expected," Cheon said.

"Did it?"

"He gave you information instead of trying to destroy you. From what I understand about your father, that’s practically a declaration of love."

"Panda’s right," Mera added. "He could have made this meeting a lot harder. Instead he basically handed you a roadmap to independence."

"Which means he wants something."

"Obviously. But whatever he wants, it aligns with what you want for now. That’s useful."

I looked at the folder in my hands. Documents about trusts and inheritance and corporate power structures. Things the original Rome had never bothered to learn because he’d assumed he’d never have access to them anyway.

"Three-Star certification," I said.

"By graduation," Cheon confirmed. "Which means top five in class rankings, excellent field performance during the exhibition matches, and a clean psychological evaluation."

"The psych eval might be a problem."

"We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it."

The elevator reached the ground floor. We walked out into the sunlight, three people who had no business being together and somehow fit anyway.

"Vanguard meeting’s at two," Mera said. "That gives us three hours."

"Three hours for what?"

"Lunch. Strategy. Maybe a quickie in the back of the car if we’re feeling adventurous."

"Marco’s driving."

"Marco’s seen worse."

"I really haven’t," Marco called from the driver’s seat. "And I’d prefer to keep it that way."

Mera pouted. "Spoilsport."

We climbed into the Mercedes. The city sprawled around us, bright and busy and full of people who had no idea what was coming.

My phone buzzed.

AURORA: Can we meet again? Tonight?

I stared at the message. Felt something complicated twist in my chest.

"Aurora?" Cheon asked, reading over my shoulder.

"Yeah."

"What are you going to tell her?"

I typed out a response, then deleted it. Typed another one, deleted that too.

Finally I just wrote: Where and when?

Her reply came immediately. Observation deck. 8pm.

I’ll be there.

Cheon was watching me with something unreadable in her expression. "You care about her."

"I care about all of you."

"That’s not what I meant."

"I know what you meant."