Chapter 7
In the months that followed, the Gerbick empire did not fall.
Marco removed Goran from the holding company board. He replaced the compromised legal team. He preserved every port and territory under his control. He paid restitution into the Burk civil settlement without asking Navina to reduce the amount or trade access for it. The six hundred million remained hers.
So did the forensic consultancy, which expanded into a firm helping family-owned businesses detect predatory acquisitions before signatures became graves.
Marco followed the court’s path. He attended supervised visits without weapons inside the building. He arrived on time. He learned that Luca hated being swaddled and Mila slept only when someone hummed off-key. When Navina said no to photographs, he put away his phone. When she ended a visit, he left without argument.
He never again offered money in exchange for closeness.
The first supervised visit lasted twenty minutes. Marco arrived ten minutes early carrying nothing — no toys designed by Swiss engineers, no velvet boxes from Belgrade, no envelopes for Navina to refuse. He sat in the family services room with his coat folded over one arm and waited for the child specialist to tell him where to place his hands.
Luca cried the moment Marco held him. The sound transformed the don’s face from guarded hope to pure alarm.
“What did I do?”
“You exist loudly,” Navina said.
The specialist hid a smile. “Support his head. Bring him closer to your chest.”
Marco obeyed. He had commanded armed crews during riots at the docks, but one seven-pound infant reduced him to a man afraid of breathing incorrectly. Mila slept through the entire visit.
When the allotted time ended, Marco returned Luca without protest. He paused beside the stroller, looking at both children with a hunger that had nothing to do with succession.
“Next Thursday?” he asked.
“If the threat assessment remains clear.”
“I will be here.”
He was. Week after week, he appeared. He changed diapers badly, warmed bottles too precisely, and learned not to interpret every cry as evidence of an assassination attempt.
The first time Mila spit milk across his black shirt, Navina laughed so suddenly that Marco froze. His eyes lifted to hers. The air changed.
“I missed that sound,” he said.
“You had three years to hear it.”
“I know.”
He did not turn the moment into a plea. He cleaned his shirt and asked the specialist for another cloth. That restraint lingered after he left.
The audit of Gerbick Maritime moved just as steadily. Independent accountants confirmed the undervaluation of the Burk patents and land. Goran’s signature appeared on every critical approval. Marco’s appeared only at the final acquisition stage — but that did not absolve him. He had benefited because he had chosen speed over scrutiny.
At a shareholder meeting streamed to reporters, Marco rejected his counsel’s proposed defense.
“Burk Holdings was stripped through fraudulent valuations,” he said. “My organization will restore the stolen value. No settlement is conditioned on Miss Burk’s silence, her children, or any private relationship with me.”
The board approved restitution and removed Goran’s voting authority. Several directors expected the admission to weaken Marco. Instead, three captains who had been waiting for Goran to die pledged themselves directly to him. Port unions renewed their agreements. Legitimate investors valued a controlled correction more than a scandal dragged through years of discovery.
Marco emerged more powerful — not less.
Navina watched the recording in her office and felt no urge to thank him. Returning stolen value was not romance. It was obligation. Still, when he refused to place conditions on the settlement, she recognized change.
One winter afternoon, Luca reached for Marco first.
Marco looked at Navina before lifting the child. She nodded. He gathered his son against his chest with a tenderness that made her look away. Mila began protesting from the blanket, unwilling to be excluded. Marco sat on the floor and let Navina place the girl in his other arm.
The twins stared up at him with matching solemn eyes.
“I am your father,” he whispered. “But that word is a responsibility I have not earned yet.”
May you like
Navina heard him. So did the child specialist taking notes across the room. Marco did not look at Navina as if the moment entitled him to her heart.
That — more than the tears on his face — was the first evidence that he might someday deserve a place near it.
