Chapter 5 - The Verdict of the Past
Twenty-four hours passed in an agonizing, razor-edged state of suspended reality.
The expedited genetic testing had been handled by a private forensic lab under Ryan’s direct armed supervision.
Not a single courier had touched the samples without an armed guard riding in the passenger seat.
Now, the grandfather clock in Victor DeMarco’s private library chimed three slow, heavy tolls in the afternoon gloom.
Rain lashed violently against the towering leaded glass windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside the estate.
The library was massive, lined with thousands of leather-bound books and heavy dark oak paneling.
Victor sat behind his immense mahogany desk, his hands resting flat upon the green leather blotter.
He looked older today; the lines around his mouth were carved deep with exhaustion and unspoken dread.
Ryan stood leaning against the towering bookshelf near the window, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Natalie sat in a high-backed burgundy leather chair facing the patriarch, her spine held perfectly straight.
She had refused to wear the servant’s uniform today, choosing instead a simple, loose-fitting dark green sweater.
Her hands rested comfortably over her abdomen, no longer trying to hide the tiny life growing inside her.
The heavy library door clicked open, and Arthur Caldwell entered the room carrying a sealed manila envelope.
The attorney looked visibly shaken, his usual polished professional demeanor cracking around the edges.
He walked over to the desk with slow, deliberate steps and placed the heavy envelope before the patriarch.
“The forensic lab completed three independent sequencing runs, Mr. DeMarco,” Caldwell said, his voice unusually strained.
Victor did not reach for the envelope immediately.
His ancient hands trembled slightly against the green blotter before he slid his index finger beneath the wax seal.
He tore the paper open with a sharp, ragged sound that echoed off the high wooden ceiling.
He withdrew the multi-page genetic analysis report and laid the sheets out under the green desk lamp.
Victor adjusted his reading glasses, his eyes scanning the dense columns of chromosomal markers.
For nearly a full minute, the only sound in the room was the torrential rain beating against the glass.
Suddenly, Victor’s posture slumped, his shoulders dropping several inches as the breath left his lungs.
A cold, bitter sneer curled across his aged lips as he looked up from the first page of the document.
“Zero percent direct maternal match,” Victor announced, his voice ringing with bitter, venomous disappointment.
Natalie felt a sudden, bizarre rush of relief flood through her veins.
“You see?” she said, beginning to rise from her leather chair. “I told you that your theory was impossible.”
“You are not Lucia DeMarco,” Victor continued coldly, tossing the first sheet onto the desk blotter.
“You are just an opportunistic little maid who happened to share a coincidental birthmark with a ghost.”
“Grandfather, read the rest of the file,” Ryan’s voice cut through the room like a sharpened blade.
Ryan had not moved from the bookshelf, but his eyes were locked onto Caldwell’s pale, sweat-sheened face.
“Arthur didn't look like he had seen an apparition because the test was negative,” Ryan said calmly.
“Turn the page, Victor.”
Victor frowned, his haughty expression flickering with irritation as he picked up the second page of the analysis.
He read the first two lines, and the color instantly drained from his face for the second time in twenty-four hours.
His hands shook so violently that the heavy parchment paper rattled loudly in the quiet room.
Caldwell cleared his dry throat, stepping closer to the desk to translate the scientific conclusions aloud.
“The subject, Natalie Brooks, does not possess the genetic profile of Lucia DeMarco,” Caldwell stated quietly.
“However, the subject shares a 99.8% confirmed maternal relationship with the deceased biological sample on record.”
Victor looked up from the paper, his wide eyes swimming with profound, unadulterated shock.
“She is not my daughter,” Victor whispered, his voice cracking into a ragged, broken gasp.
“No, sir,” Caldwell confirmed softly, looking directly at Natalie with immense reverence and caution.
“She is Lucia’s biological child.”
“Natalie Brooks is your maternal granddaughter.”
The words crashed over Natalie like a tidal wave of crushing, suffocating ocean water.
Her breath hitched violently in her throat, her hand gripping the carved armrest of the leather chair.
Her mother.
The woman who had baked bread in Ohio, who had worn flour in her hair and called herself Laura.
The woman who had kissed Natalie’s forehead every night before vanishing into thin air when Natalie was six.
Laura had not been a stranger who shared a birthmark.
Laura had been Lucia DeMarco all along.
“My mother was your daughter,” Natalie whispered, tears blinding her eyes as the past reformed before her.
“She didn't abandon me because she was reckless or cold,” she realized aloud, her voice breaking.
“She abandoned me because she was trying to save my life!”
Victor covered his face with his trembling, weathered hands, a low, guttural groan tearing from his chest.
The ruthless mafia patriarch, the man who had ordered executions without blinking, was weeping in his chair.
“Lucia ran from me,” Victor confessed, his voice muffled behind his aged fingers.
“Twenty-six years ago, our syndicate was locked in a brutal territorial war with the Moretti family.”
“To secure a truce, I signed a blood contract behind my daughter’s back.”
“I promised Lucia’s hand in marriage to Salvatore Moretti, a vicious sadist who had butchered half his own council.”
“When she found out what I had done, she looked at me with pure hatred and fled into the night.”
Victor dropped his hands from his face, looking at Natalie with eyes haunted by decades of burning regret.
“She was already carrying a child when she escaped,” Victor whispered, staring at Natalie’s pale face.
“She was carrying you.”
Natalie stared at the old man, horrified by the monstrous cruelty that had torn her mother’s life apart.
“You sold your own daughter to a butcher,” Natalie said, her voice filled with pure, righteous disgust.
“And you think you have the right to claim me as your family now?”
Victor did not argue with her; he merely looked past her toward the darkened window.
“The blood contract never expired, Natalie,” Victor said, his tone dropping into a terrifying, deadly hush.
Ryan pushed himself away from the bookshelf, stepping between Natalie and the desk with lethal focus.
“What are you saying, Victor?” Ryan demanded, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously.
Victor pointed a shaking finger directly at Natalie’s gently rounded abdomen.
“The contract stated that the firstborn child of the DeMarco line would belong to the Moretti empire to seal the alliance.”
“Lucia vanished before they could take her child.”
“For twenty-six years, the Morettis believed the bloodline had died with her.”
“Now, Natalie has returned to this city, carrying the next generation beneath her heart.”
Victor looked at Natalie with eyes that held the chilling cold of a freshly dug grave.
“The moment Salvatore Moretti finds out you exist, he will not just come for you.”
“He will tear this city apart to take that unborn baby from your arms.”CHAPTER 6 — The Shadow of Salvatore Moretti
The heavy silence in the library felt thick enough to suffocate everyone inside the room.
Victor DeMarco lowered his head into his trembling hands, his broad shoulders shaking with silent regret.
The ghosts of his past decisions had finally returned to collect their devastating interest.
Natalie stared at the old patriarch, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Salvatore Moretti is still alive?” Natalie whispered, her voice trembling with rising dread.
Victor slowly raised his head, his gray eyes shadowed with a profound, terrifying weariness.
“Men like Moretti do not simply die of old age, child,” Victor answered heavily.
“He rules the eastern docks with an iron fist and a cruelty that makes my worst days look tame.”
“Twenty-six years ago, he was a ruthless underboss waiting to carve up my empire.”
“The blood contract I signed was supposed to bind our families together in peace.”
“Instead, it turned my only daughter into a fugitive hiding in the shadows of Ohio.”
Ryan stepped closer to the mahogany desk, his boots clicking sharply against the polished wood floor.
“Moretti hasn't forgotten that contract, has he?” Ryan asked, his tone flat and lethal.
Victor shook his head slowly, confirming his grandson’s darkest suspicion.
“He has spent two decades searching for any trace of Lucia or her descendants,” Victor said.
“He knows the bloodline did not die out completely.”
“And the moment he discovers that a pregnant woman bearing the DeMarco birthmark is inside this estate—”
Victor did not finish the sentence, but the grim reality hung heavily in the air.
Moretti would level the entire compound to the ground to seize the child before it drew its first breath.
Natalie’s hands instinctively moved to protect her abdomen, a cold wave of panic washing over her.
“I am leaving,” Natalie said, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere with sudden resolve.
“If my presence here puts this house at war, I will take my chances on the open road.”
Ryan moved instantly, blocking her path toward the heavy oak doors with his towering frame.
“You are not taking one step outside these gates, Natalie,” Ryan commanded, his voice unyielding.
“On the open road, Moretti’s scouts would strip you from your car before you crossed county lines.”
“Within this fortress, you have an entire army standing between you and that butcher.”
Natalie looked up into Ryan’s dark, unwavering eyes, seeing an absolute vow written across his features.
“I am not a pawn in your family’s blood feuds, Ryan,” she protested, her voice breaking slightly.
“I am just a mother trying to keep her unborn child safe from monsters.”
“That is precisely why you are staying right here,” Ryan replied softly, his tone softening just a fraction.
“Because I am the only man in this city capable of keeping you alive.”
Victor pushed himself up from his leather chair, leaning heavily against his silver-topped cane.
“Ryan is right,” the patriarch murmured, his voice sounding older than his eighty-one years.
May you like
“You must be moved immediately to the reinforced safe rooms in the subterranean estate level.”
“Arthur, make the arrangements before sunset.”
